waiting for peace

It's a rainy, gloomy day today.. the kind of rainy that tells you to stay in bed 5 minutes longer, and makes water and mud splash onto the windows. The kind of rainy that's perfect for books and sweaters and cups of coffee. I opened my eyes this morning and stared at the top of my bunk bed, listening to the pounding of the rain outside my window. It's the kind of rain that floods the yard and makes all things muddy. It's the kind of rainy that's good for staying home and snuggling babies under fuzzy blankets.

We're cuddled on the couch- her and I. Her head rests on my chest and my arms wrap around her.. hearing each raspy breath she takes, feeling the slight rise and fall of her shoulders. And looking at this little life, I want to cry. I want to scream. I want to beat something. I want to run away. I want to find the beauty.

There's an emptiness, an aching. Because lately it seems every time I open my Bible, God just gets farther and farther away. These days, the Word of God makes about as much sense to me as AP Calculus. I stare at the words on the page, longing for something to connect and hit me hard.. and there's nothing. Where is God? Because I'm desperate, so desperate. And He hasn't been near in what seems like ages. All that I am is dry bones without the Lord; a weary, broken, desert soul. 

I want to take this baby and run… to a place where sickness doesn't exist and there's a stillness within my soul and God is always near to us. The rain beats the ground outside and the yelling children grow louder still. I'm a jumbled mess of thoughts, and God keeps slipping farther and farther.

Looking at that bald head and cold feet, I know I should pray, I need to pray. But the words won't come. What does one pray for in a situation like this? I don't even know where to start. But I know He hears my heart, so I trust in a Spirit who intercedes for me. 

A good Father who gives only good gifts… if every part of my life is a gift from Him, then every part of my life can be made good by Him. He makes beauty rise from the ashes. He can take even this and make it good. And so I trust in a God I cannot hear, cannot see, and currently cannot sense His presence near me.

Because I've learned and am still learning this. I know it and believe it: that even if He doesn't do what we will, His will is still right and His heart is still good. Even if He doesn't, He does give enough of Himself. Even if He doesn't, He does still love us. Even if He doesn't, He is still forever worthy. Even when He doesn't seem near, He is closer than a breath. 

The rain pours, and we sit there snuggled. A broken pair we are- this girl with the broken heart and me with the broken spirit.  I hum the words to my favorite song, I hum them loud. And we wait, for His peace.

Feel the presence of God upon the waters

Hear the voice of the Lord within the thunder that rolls

King of the fight, the Lord is mighty

The Lord can calm the troubled soul.

Peace when trouble blows

Jehovah see, Jehovah knows

He is my peace when sorrow nears

Jehovah sees, Jehovah hears.

Like the breath I need to live

Jehovah takes, Jehovah gives

He is my peace

the Lord has no equal

"Who else has held the oceans in his hand? 

Who has measured off the heavens with his fingers?

Who else knows the weight of the earth, or has weighed the mountains and hills on a scale?

Who is able to advise the Spirit of the Lord?

Who knows enough to give Him advice or teach Him?

Has the Lord ever needed anyone's advice?

Does He need instruction about what is good? 

Did someone teach Him what is right, or show him the path of justice?

.... Look up into the heavens. Who created the stars?

He brings them out like an army, one after another, calling each by its name.

Because of His great power and incomparable strength, not a single one is missing.

O Jacob, how can you say the Lord does not see your troubles?

O Israel, how can you say God ignores your rights?

Have you never heard? Have you never understood?

The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of all the earth.

He never grows weak or weary. No one can measure the depths of His understanding."

    -Isaiah 40:12-14&26-28

If you'd be keeping our sweet Zuena in your prayers -as well as everyone at Ekisa- we'd be so grateful.

mzungu in the kitchen

Timid steps across the muddied backyard, the mzungu follows the sounds of banging pots and sizzling fire and women's laughter to the kitchen. Curiosity has gotten the best of her; she needs to see what's going on. She smiles at the women in the kitchen who are cutting and washing and frying lunch for the day. "Do you need help?" eyes search the faces, looking for someone who understands English. Later she would learn it was Mama Ebra who answered her, "You want to help us cook? Yes. Come help." 

(sorting rice)

She walks into the kitchen... a small cemented room with a wall-sized window on one side, pots on coals, and irish (potato) peels all over the floor. Mama Sara pulls up the only seat in the kitchen, a small three legged stool. "You sit here." the mama says, despite the auntie's voiced protests. "Have you used a knife before?" the question arises laughter- from the mzungu and the mamas, for very different reasons. "Yes, yes, I have."The small bin of green peppers and tomatoes and onions scrapes across the room and land near the white, barefoot feet.

(cooking lentils and irish)

The girl peels the onion and chops it while mamas watch on, laughing and speaking in a rush of unfamiliar words. She feels eyes on her, knowing every word uttered is making fun of her cooking skills. Hands take the plate of cut-up onions and peppers and tomatoes. "Thank you Auntie! Well done, well done!" The other mamas walking by stop to see the strange sight- a mzungu in the kitchen. She sits on the cement floor, cutting cabbage.. knife slices on the thumb, an accidentally kicked over plate of tomatoes, a flying matooke skin across the room, a dropped plate. The mamas look on with amused and yet disapproving expressions their faces. This mzungu girl is clumsy, she doesn't know what she's doing, but she is learning.

(stirring beans for the first time!)

She finds her way to the backyard kitchen every day after that. It becomes the hour she looks forward to. And after a week, she settles into the rhythm.. of chopping, and frying, and stirring. She's no longer afraid to pick the bugs from the beans like she was at first. She knows the order to making the sauce for the lentils (onions, then tomatoes, then pepper, then carrots). She knows to give one spoon of lentils and one spoon of soup in each colored, plastic bowl. Ebra -who shied away in the corner from day 1- sits in her lap now, kissing her face and hair, and laughing when she tickles him. The mama's unfamiliar words and laughter rush over her, while onions sizzle and white fire ashes fly and babies play by her feet.

(learning from Mama Sara)

She's happy here.. oh-so happy. She's found her place, her sanctuary in the midst of lots of crazy; words can't describe how she loves this little room. This room where ants crawl the walls and mamas laugh at her attempt to speak Luganda and children play with dull knives and potato skins and the word cooking takes on a whole new meaning. These mamas, these women, the children.. she realizes how much she loves being with them; bonds are forming and friendships starting, she's officially attached. She closes her eyes, content. This life she lives, this God she serves, it's all so good. She could stay like this forever.

(Mama Ebra and her son, Ebra. Love these two so much)

(beautiful baby Latif)

(laughing with Mama Hilda)

blue and white checkered uniforms

I walk into the Ekisa kitchen at 7:15 a.m. Kids in white and blue checkered uniforms sit at the table, noisily waiting for their porridge and eggs. Jason's shirt buttons are mismatched, again. And I kneel down -still in sweaty running clothes and mud-caked shoes- to realign the buttons. I make a mental note (like I do every morning) to sew the button back onto Razia's dress this afternoon (like I intend to do every day) and know I will still forget. I walk around the table, straightening blue collars and buttoning the backs of dresses and giving good morning kisses.

Walter usually starts off the prayer (probably the sweetest prayer I've ever heard), blessing the mamas and the aunties and the porridge and the egg. The mamas hand out cups of porridge while I help peel the brown-shelled, hard-boiled eggs. Porridge first, then the egg. That's the rule. The sound of banging pots and laughing mamas comes through the window. There's porridge drips and crumbly egg yolks all over the table and floor and children's faces and my hands.

note: this picture was completely UNstaged. For real. Ekisa's love birds at their finest

When breakfast is done, we sit in the living room.. putting on knit blue sweaters and packpacks and beginning the impossible task of finding matching shoes.. Velcro straps and unzipped bags and inside-out sweaters everywhere. Water bottles and glucose biscuits (graham crackers) make their way into the backpacks. "Auntie! Auntie!" little voices cry, either needing help with something, or planing to use me as a human jungle gym in less than 2 seconds. Today it took a full 5 minutes to find Jane's shoes, which were hiding under the shoe shelf.

Jane stands there- socks inside-out, one pulled up to her knee the other rolled down to her ankle. Ditte comes out last, sleepy and grumpy and late like usual (I can't wait 'til this girl is an adult and drinking her morning coffee at the breakfast table. It's gonna be great). Walter is ready to go and being a sweet help, as always; telling me who gets which shoes, because I can never get it right. Razia is more interested in playing and laughing and running around than she is about making sure she has shoes on her feet when she walks out the door. 

I stand on the porch, watching a rush of little feet and school uniforms make their way to the car. And it's silly, but I feel like a bit of a Mommy- making sure good morning kisses are given to chocolate-colored heads, and uniforms are on neatly and properly, and there are two matching shoes on all feet. And standing there, I realize how much I'm going to miss my mornings starting like this.. with checkered white and blue uniforms at the kitchen table.

simple faith. simple love. just because.

"You're the gift that came to take us back,

'cause baby dear you have the joy we lack.

And with your tiny life you've shown

the precious love of God.

He's full of mercy, full of grace, and full of one more chance

for us to daily learn to love like He first loved us.

And a child shall lead them, for such is the kingdom of heaven."

home for the next 6 months

Hey! random fact: I've been in Uganda for 25 days and have 5 months and 2 days left 'til I'm back in Chicago. Just incase you were wondering or something :) Here's what home for the next 5 months and 2 days looks like:

The porch/front door.

The living room, where school and dance parties and messy play and wonderful things happen.

School backpacks :)

On the living room wall..

The kitchen table.

The rest of the kitchen.

The volunteer bedroom (my bed's the bottom one on the right)

My bed, complete with the stuffed hippo Ellie snuck in my right before I left.

The bathroom and the shower, or lackthereof.

The Ekisa driveway 

The laundry lines and yard.