Overdue and Last Update

I've been in not only Mississippi, but back in Starkville as well as going to class for almost two months now. Transitioning from Uganda, to home, and being thrown into rush just two weeks after being in Jackson was a lot of adjusting to do in not a lot of time.

Coming back to America was not so difficult in terms of culture and conditions. I've learned to be grateful for the lives we live and humbled by God's goodness. Small things like having anything I want to eat, being able to drive where I want to go, air conditioning, warm showers, or even the joy of simply having running water are more than enough to keep my mouth quiet in humble gratitude. Electricity is a nice perk too ;) Although, candles and headlights more than sufficed in our dire need to play cards at night when the power would be out for days. While adjusting to conditions and culture seemed to be an easy feat, the transition back into relationships was hard.

For so long, I dreamed of the day I could finally see my friends and family and wrap my arms around them once again. The most difficult challenge of going to Uganda was going alone, but it was the best thing for me. I do not want to take my friendship with Dawn for granted. She was a blessing and a gift during those six weeks, and I believe we will remain good friends in the future. However, you can only get to know someone so well in a matter of six weeks. Without the luxury of calling my parents at the drop of a hat, or texting someone in moments of weakness; I was driven into prayer more than ever. The first three weeks seemed so hard and so lonely. Yet, overtime, I got to see the Lord comfort me and walk along side me as I struggled my way through living in another country. The nearness of God became something I now know not only in my head, but also in my heart. It is a beautiful thing to walk in intimate relationship with Him.

As I rode the plane to America, I could hardly keep myself still with the excitement of finally landing on American soil. On the flight from Atlanta to Jackson I actually had to turn my head towards the window to hide the goofy, massive smile that spread across my face from the person next to me. I feared they might find me somewhat bizarre, and wouldn't understand the intense excitement I was experiencing. My heart was bursting with happiness at the thoughts of seeing my family face to face. Sure enough when I arrived, I was greeted by a mother in tears and a pretty great dad welcoming me with hugs and smiles. It was great to feel safe and loved once again.

What I didn't quite expect, was the feeling of looking at my parents and thinking: I've wanted to see them for so long, but there is so much about me and my life that they know nothing about. It took me off guard to feel a sense of loneliness upon returning home. However, I once again was driven into prayer and have truly learned to be content just being Louise and resting in fellowship with Christ. After a few days to share pictures and stories, being home became sweet once again, and I enjoyed the time to rest. Returning to school has been difficult at times with all the business and fast pace way of life. I often find myself wishing I could go back to Uganda and be with my friends. However, I feel confident that being at State is where I need to be as of now. It may not be my favorite thing or place to be, but I know that I've been grace sufficient to accomplish what the Lord puts before me to His glory. I've been blessed with some amazing roommates, great friends, and a wonderful family. Beyond all these blessings, Christ Himself is sufficient.
I want to remember what I've experienced this past summer and apply it to where I am now. I cannot thank those of you who have supported me enough. You have helped to further the kingdom of Christ and have played part in an eternal benefit. Thank you.

Even though this post is my last and beyond overdue; these are some pictures of things I wrote about and saw while in Kampala.

This is Faith from one of my first posts that I wrote about

Baby Sirus from the TRH home

Dawn and I hand washing our clothes!

Dawn and I decided to be twinkies in our silly church girl dresses

Me with the children from the slums

Alley way in the slums

Some of the student from one of the schools we spoke on Human Rights at

One of the buildings at the children's prison

Jessica and I with the children from the prison

Chris in his natural habitat-surrounded by children with a big smile

We went on a hike with some of the kids from Dwelling Places one afternoon after school

Pretty awesome

Some of our new friends that came to our cookout!

Murchison falls that flows into the Nile River

Me with all the youth boys from DP. We became such great friends

This is Charles; my closest friend I made and the guy who always took care of us. It sure was difficult to leave him.

Christine and I-took her a while to hug us, but we finally got her around to it ;)

Playing our last few games before leaving to distract us from the sad news of our departure

Beautiful sunset during the sad drive to the airport

Last picture of Dawn and I on our way HOME!!

6 Weeks Too Short

It’s hard to believe that I’ve reached my last week here in Uganda. With what began feeling like an eternity, these six weeks have flown by. Where did the time go? I’m starting to find myself with wet eyes at the thought of leaving my new friends. When I consider this last week, I want to take as much advantage as I can of the opportunities to be with these kids. This morning we went to church with them, and you couldn’t have paid me to wipe off the smile plastered on my face. We were all dancing, clapping, and joking with each other. It was such a sweet time of fellowship. I will certainly miss the lively worship and relational nature of the people here. I look forward to each morning when I get to embrace the kids with hugs and shower them in love. I love walking almost everywhere with a small hand in mine, and hugging a small child that is running at me and feeling that it has been returned ten fold simply by embracing them. My heart smiles with each precious child that I cross paths with. I feel like a little piece of my heart is being left behind in Africa.

I am excited to come home, but I do not feel glad about leaving here. I’ve learned so much during these five weeks, and pray the Lord is equipping me for what is to come. My prayer is that when I ride down that escalator in the Jackson Evers airport into the baggage claim, I will be returning to Mississippi with less of Louise and carrying more of Christ with me. I am looking forward to all that is in store after this trip. Thank you to those of you who have prayed for me and been supportive. Encouragement from home has kept me going and been beyond helpful.

This will probably be my last post until I am home and have the time to write. Until then, I want to focus on my time here and not bother with the Internet all that much. I am hoping to return to the prison on Tuesday, so prayers for that trip are widely welcome. I ask that you would not simply pray for me, but that those children would feel loved and special.

Bringing a Little Red, White, and Blue to Uganda

Due to a lack of power this week, I haven't been able to post in quite some time. So forgive me for my tardiness in writing. Even now I am using a computer at a tourist place to check the internet and give this an update.

The lies of discouragement seem to be lurking behind my shoulder nearly every day here. Questions that run through my head: Am I doing enough? How am I helping? The needs here are so much bigger than me, what can I do? It is easy for me to find myself spiraling down into this pit of self-centered helplessness. Yet, the Lord has been faithful to lift me up on eagles wings, and lift my eyes off of myself and onto Him. Last week, Dawn and I sat down with the high school girls to hang out and catch up with them. We asked how they've been, and what they've been learning from morning devotions. Considering they are older and mostly self sufficient, it's often difficult to see where you are playing a part in Christ's work in their lives. One of the girls, Joan, proceeded to fill me with encouragement as I was surprised at her response to our questions. She told us that we were the first team of people who had ever come to Dwelling Places and spent the majority of our time with the youth. "Most people seem to go to the TRH and spend time with the little children. The youth here often get more ignored." She told us how encouraged she was that we've spent equal time with both girls and boys. She said normally people come and the girls only talk to the girls and vice versa. "It's helped us come together as a family and have an optimistic attitude around here." This is exactly what I needed to hear. The Lord used Joan to show me that our presence, our mere friendship, has meant a lot to these kids. Later, Joseph, (one of the staff in charge of the youth) brought more encouragement as he shared specific stories of how we've moved in the lives of these students. Seeing Christ work through someone as selfish as myself is beyond humbling. My spirits were lifted, and my heart smiled to see that these people were somehow getting a taste of God's goodness.

Now for the red, white, blue; land that I love.

If you think being in Uganda means we won't have an independence day celebration, then you are wrong, my friend. And if you think the power being out would stop us, then think again! Yep, we threw a 4th of July celebration with all our new, Ugandan friends and partied hard in the candle light. Let me preface this little adventure by telling you that we planned on throwing a party for about 20 people.....35-40 showed up. Thankfully, our mother-like, Ugandan women came along with them not empty handed. Along with Dawn and I running to the store, scrounging through our closet for food, and the rice the women brought, it was a five loaves of bread and two fish experience. I'm not quite sure where all the food came from, but somehow we had plenty to go around. We even started with ice cream because it was melting from the day before. I was grateful for the Lord's hand of protection as well considering there were a few people there we'd never seen before. As hectic as it was, I have missed the essence of chaos in my life. It was great to tap in to my domestic, girly side and play hostess. We had a dance party facilitated by music played from car speakers. Card games were being taught and played left and right, and we even had some football thrown in the front yard. It was wonderful to have all our friends together and provide a place for them to fellowship. Getting to feed them was a joy as well. I didn't get to hang out much because I was busy cleaning and cooking in the kitchen. However, I was glad to provide food and fun for every one outside. We made burgers and bought sausages which was as close as we could get to American food. It's a feat trying to find those things out here, but we "made do" and finally caved by making them all yet again....a bowl of rice. I met them in the middle and wore my "Uganda" jersey (which is pretty popular attire here) and ended up matching with most of the guys. It was great fun. We made sure they knew the purpose of the party, and I felt quite proud to be an American. An American who loves Africa of course. ;)

All in all, the party went well though it's attendance size was unexpected. Celebrating Independence Day in Africa wasn't so bad after all. In fact, it ended up being pretty great. For those of you who can brag about your barbecues and cook outs, I'll try not to keep a chip on my shoulder that I cooked out too...charcoal style....in Africa. Aye oh!

God, Bless America. Land that I love.

Prison; Not a Place for Children

I don’t even know where to begin. How do I put into words the tragedy I’ve witnessed today? Bear with me as I stumble through this post. Trying to write through hard felt emotions is a little difficult. Words don’t quite fit for what my eyes have seen…

This morning Marsali came to pick us up to take us to a government run prison for street kids. Marsali, as I’ve mentioned before, is the nurse for Dwelling Places. She goes to the prison every other Tuesday to help treat the children with their medical needs. We swung by the offices before leaving the city to pick up Chris and Betty. I was comforted to see Chris’ smiling face with us once again. Knowing he was coming along already brought a peace to my heart. Marsali briefed us before arriving to this prison. She prepared us to steer clear of any political conversation and to prepare our heart for what we were about to see. I was under the impression that this prison was highly guarded with government officials, and that we would be arriving to an intensely gated area. After driving an hour out of the city and down a long dirt road, my expectations were quickly and unfortunately shattered. In fact, my expectations would have been a dream for this place. It made sense to me why this place is so far away and seems nearly hidden.

As we drove up this long, dirt hill, we slowly saw children revealed on both sides of the van. Every hundred to fifty feet, we would see a child or two just sitting in the grass or off in the bushes. After a couple minutes of this, we came upon some old, abandoned buildings. They were worn down with windows busted out, and the tan colored paint chipping off. Sitting outside were small groups of children.
“We’re here,” Marsali said. I was aghast the moment she said this. I could not believe what my eyes were seeing. I could not we believe we had arrived at our destination.

The van stopped and I got out into what felt like an evil, eerie place. There were no gates. There were no adults in sight. It was quiet, nearly silent in fact. I later found out there are 205 children here. You would never know it from listening to this place that life was even existent. I looked around to see children scattered by ones and some in pairs of two. They were weary of us, and hesitant to approach us unlike the kids closer to town. There were about 8 of these large, abandoned buildings around us. I assumed they were used for the children. For what reason I don’t know, because there was nothing inside them.

The windows were broken and dirty, paint was chipping, doors hung open, and the rooms were large and vacant. They almost had a warehouse effect on the inside. Eeriness hung in the air. My spirit already felt heavy. You cannot help but sense there is something deeply wrong with this place. We walked through the first building to unveil more run-down buildings. Then slowly but surely, the children came gathering out of nowhere. It seemed almost as if they had been hiding. They were all dirty and dusty. They stood there on their bony legs looking at us with sad eyes. Their bellies were enlarged and hair discolored from malnutrition. Some had ringworm, some were halfway dressed, and one had a shuteye from infection. I could tell that even the slums would be better for these kids. In the slums they would have relationships, but here they were isolated. At first we only saw about 100 children, and I was initially overwhelmed and didn’t quite know how to react.

Chris saved me from an awkward panic when he called us back in the previous building. He led us upstairs to meet some people “in charge.” I followed Chris up the stairs once more comforted only by his presence. When we arrived on the second floor, there were three offices and three adults. They were the only ones I had seen thus far. (The set up of the land is very broad and spread apart. It wouldn’t take much to spot an adult here.) We were directed to a small office on my left. Marsali already sat inside on a blue couch. Standing in the room waiting on us was a man in a suit that wore glasses and a baldhead. He was older, probably in his later fifties and put a smile on his face. We walked in the room to sit down and meet them. As I sat there looking at these three people, everything in me judged them. How could they just sit up here and be okay with this place?? I don’t understand. I felt like I was sitting in a room with Nazi soldiers who approved concentration camps. And truthfully, this place was not far from that. While this man was talking to us, (I could hardly listen because my mind was spinning) there was a painfully loud banging sound that repeated itself off and on for about 1 minute. I had no idea what it’s purpose was until we walked out of the office and over to a window. This window looked over the whole compound.

The loud banging sound was to notify the 205 children that at 11:00 a.m., it was time for breakfast porridge. They lined up in rows outside with blue, plastic bowls and waited for their turn at the front of the line. From a large bucket, someone scooped out a wet, grit-like substance and plopped it into their bowls. I just couldn’t believe what I was seeing. If a place like this were ever found in the U.S., it would be a national atrocity making news headlines for weeks. How was this okay…

After morning porridge, we made our way to play with the children. Marsali and one of the girls on our team went into another area to do the clinic. The clinic consisted of Marsali and her medicine. It was up to Betty and Chris to send the children to her. The few adults around were so disconnected. They had no business in showing gratitude for Marsali’s help. It was apparent they could care less.

We played jump rope and the smiles and playtime began. Small child-like riots broke out as the children fought to be next in line to jump. Theirs eyes lit up and their mouths were filled with laughter as they played. My heart soared seeing them so happy. Dawn came and took my place holding the end of the rope. I played with the children running around everywhere. I love watching Chris play with these kids. He has such a captivating smile and the children are drawn to his loving, fatherly countenance. He would pick them up and spin them around, we took pictures of them, and we sang and danced with them.

After about an hour of playing, Chris took us on a heart wrenching tour of this place. The whole time, he maintained a smile and had a small hand in each of his. The children followed us and just wanted a hand to hold. After swallowing my fear of ringworm and disease, I was proud to give them mine. We walked across a debris-covered area and into a slender hallway. On each side of me were boarded doors with pad locks on them. The only opening came from above the doorways. There were small bars about an arms length above my head. The bars were around 6 inches long, just tall enough for me to reach up and snap a picture to see what was inside these cells. When I pulled my camera down to look at the screen, all I saw was a small green bucket in the room. The rest was just a tightly confined closet-sized room. I asked Chris what this was for and didn’t like hearing his answer. They use these cells as isolation punishment for when the children misbehave. I felt sick walking through here. I felt so helpless. My ability to help is so small, but my desire is so big. I couldn’t help but just squeeze the small hand in mine tighter. I did my best to keep this child by my side smiling the whole time I carried his hand in mine. I felt guilty walking away from these cells by merely knowing of their existence.

With a sea of children following us, we went to both the girls and boys dormitories. They fill these abandoned buildings with bunk beds and mosquito nets. They don’t do much though. There are holes in the nets, and not to mention the broken windows they sleep next to as well as the doors that hang wide open. I remained encouraged by Chris’ constant, comforting smile. Many of these children come from northern Uganda. Only he and Betty speak their language. I have love to give, but Chris has communication with them. His reward will be great. Even I love being around him, and feel like his daughter. I can only imagine how much these children adore this man. At the girls dorm was the next adult we’d seen. I was confronted with my own sin as I could hardly shake her hand. I just couldn’t understand how these people worked here.

The smiles of these kids kept me going throughout this day. As well as seeing Chris’ hands heavily occupied with tons of little fingers on them. They just want to be loved so badly. Having a hand to hold meant the world to them. Split in two, part of me just wanted to come home and be comforted in the arms of my family. However, the other half of me wanted to stay with these children and never leave their side. I just wish I could build a fortress of love around them.

I have seen the epitome of a fallen and evil world today. I’m having a very difficult time picking my head up from this one. How can it be okay for this to go on?? How can these children just be confined here with nothing to do all day out in the middle of nowhere? How can anyone just sit by and watch this happen?? My heart is hurting. I feel drenched in compassion. I am longing for this to all stop. Oh, Lord, please I pray that you pour out compassion on these children.

We just played with the children all day, and I gave everything I had to keep them smiling and laughing the whole time. I wanted them all to feel loved and cared for; even if it was only for a few hours. I wanted them to taste goodness. I wanted them to feel important- to feel special. After about 4 hours, it was time to pack up the van and head out. We piled in the car and rolled the windows down to wave bye to the kids. As we drove away, I sank within myself. The rainy ride home accompanied the hurt I felt. My heart ached the whole way back. It wasn’t long until I sat alone my room and just broke down at the appalling things I’d seen. How do you watch someone be mistreated, hold their hand, make them smile, and then just leave them?? My heart is so sad. I am upset by what I’ve seen today. It is a great evil being done to these children. No words or pictures can explain this. In my opinion, it was dangerously close to a concentration camp for children. These children were deserted, wandering, uncared for, and alone. Lord, thank you for the smiles I could share today. I’m at a loss of words for what more to say- I’m hurting beyond word’s expression. Pray for these children. They need life. They need relationship. They need love. They need Jesus.

Support and Prayers Go a Long Way

The majority of my mornings are spent doing discipleship with the Dwelling Places youth. These students range from the ages 15-25 and there are about 12 of them. They have each come from the streets and are also being prepared to ease into independent living. During discipleship, we have devotions with the students. We open with a worship song, a time of prayer, and then Dawn or I will discuss scripture with them. Their worship is so precious and honest. Whether you are in tune or not, it doesn’t matter here. They want you to worship, and worship with all your heart. Prayer is in depth and far from what most of us Americans are used to. Then our time of sharing God’s word with them is always filled with encouragement. It is a humbling honor to present truth to these new friends of ours.

This morning in discipleship, one of our new friends, Daniel, asked about the details of how we came to Uganda. He was surprised to hear that we aren’t all “loaded” with money. First Dawn shared her story and testimony of God’s provision. Following her, I told all the students about the process of support raising. As I finished telling the process of events that led me here, I turned the focus on to the many people who have supported and are praying for me. “There are hundreds of people in America praying for you guys. And your lives are being thought of all around the world.” Applause filled the room following this statement. These students were so enlightened and encouraged to hear this. To be honest, I really wasn’t expecting such a delighted response from them. It made my heart smile to see them feel appreciated and loved. This morning I know they felt important.

I realize this is a short post, but I want to thank and encourage those of you who have supported me and are praying for these children. Today your prayers have encouraged these students. Today your care made them feel important. Thank you for loving these children and youth. I would not be here without your support, and the Lord is loving His children through each of you. It is a powerful thing to see the Lord work amongst all nations and every tongue. We serve a great God, and I am thankful we each can take part in it.

Today we did another Human Rights talk with the students at the Agape’ school. The children were beyond delightful as always, and I left with a heart full of joy. The smiles on their faces as well as their attentive eyes and ears bless me greatly. I am humbled as the Lord entrusts someone like me with His precious children. The week has faired well, and the relationships we have been building seem to flourish more and more every day. Conversation flows more naturally, and opportunities to share the gospel are increasing. I find that many people here say they are Christian. I am praying to take them deeper into why they believe what they do. I pray that it’s not because their parents are Christians, but because their hearts are humbled and moved by the grace of God. I would love for those of you back home to join me in praying that they would have a clear understanding of the gospel, and that it would be personal to each of them in their own way.

I Cannot Stop at Mourning

Disclaimer: I may be including some slightly intense details of my slum experience. I want to try my best to convey what I have seen. Also, this is really long, but I would advise you to please read it.

Doing slum outreach yesterday was the hardest, saddest, and most terrifying day I may have experienced. What made it such a difficult day was just seeing the way these people live. I can only imagine how difficult it must be to actually live this everyday, and I only observed it. I will try my best to write about this experience. It will be difficult though because it’s something you must see to understand the emotional affects of it. Words won’t do this encounter justice.

Yesterday we met up with Chris and Betty. Chris works as the Dwelling Places rescue manager, and Betty works with family relationships of the children in DP (Dwelling Places). Chris is a tall man, married, and has children who are in elementary school. He played the role of protector, dad, and guide on our way to the slum and during our time there. I was so grateful for his presence with us. He wore jeans and a bright red shirt that my eyes were constantly aware of. Knowing where Chris was in relation to the rest of us girls was my top priority.
Betty is a rather slender woman with a tender and nurturing heart. She dressed in a work suit wore a pair of glasses over her eyes. She did an excellent job of communicating what goes on in the slums to us.

After yet another up-tight taxi ride, we made our way through the city and onto an old railroad track. We followed it for about five minutes until it curved around a large, vacant building only to reveal a sea of tin roofs behind it. From the outside, you can’t see much. It just looks like a bunch of houses crammed together. It wasn’t long from stepping off the railroad track that the tin roofs disappeared, and we found ourselves inside the slum.

First we walked through a small tin door way. I was the last to walk in, and Dawn was in front of me. She walked in and turned to the left. Before I could get in the doorway, she looked back at me and said, “This is intense.” I could already see the compassion building in her eyes. Bracing myself, I turned the corner and saw a sight that no amount of preparation could truly prepare you for. In front of me was a long walk way roughly three feet wide. Each of the rooms the people live in is side by side. An average room is about the size of an American, walk-in closet. Inside are jam-packed beds. You would have just enough room to get out of bed until you’re back in the ally way again. Hanging all along the center and top of the ally were dirty clothes that had just been washed and hung to dry. Occupying the crammed quarters, were women and children. The women were washing what few dishes they had, and the children were playing half dressed. Swarming the ground, food, and children were flies everywhere. “Uncle Chris! Uncle Chris!” I heard from all directions as he led us inside. The people loved him, and he made is way down the ally where we sat down. The women were so hospitable. They had clearly put on their best clothing before coming out to see us, and pulled their recently washed clothes off the line and set them on the ground for us to sit on. Children ran and jumped in Chris’ lap. Seeing him love these people and his relationships with them was deeply inspiring. My heart was heavy with conviction. It was initially hard for me to love these people because I was in such shock. Not only shock, but fear of the disease around me as I looked down at the flies swarming my feet. I finally just had to pray and trust that the Lord has me here to love these people for a reason. And the loving began…

We met an elderly woman who is a great-grandmother to one of the boys at DP. She was about 80-90 years old. Not only was it an honor to meet her, but also rare to see a woman of her age in Africa. I passed a couple doorways and took a right turn into her room. Sitting there in a chair in this dark, small room was a frail, weak woman. We were told that the mere fact that she was sitting up was huge. She had hardly any hair on her head, and you could see every bone in her body. Generally, they have to feed her, and she lies in bed all day. You can’t help but pray that the Lord would just take her soon. Seeing such an old woman in those conditions is so heart wrenching. All I could do was share a smile with her and feel compassion.

When I walked back into the ally way, the children had their bowls of rice eating lunch. Just watching their eating conditions made my heart hurt. They ate their rice with nothing but their saliva-covered hands, which they carried not only from their mouths and back into their bowl but into their neighbor’s bowls as well. Inside was not just rice. There were flies swarming their food. In this moment, I realized that something so small as a fork would have done wonders for these children.

Before leaving, we met with many of the people in this area sick with malaria. Prayed with them, and shared some smiles. Then we soon said our goodbyes and made our way out of the ally and on to our next visit. Outside the door was a small child standing there. In his hands was a condom that he played with as a balloon. My stomach turned within me as he took his lips off the condom to smile and wave at me. Through smothering tears and hiding hurt, I forced a smile and wave back at him. This was the beginning of children being around us all the time. Every one of them had flies in their faces and was halfway dressed. So many of their private parts were just exposed and dirty. One time, I looked over to see a boy squatting and his private parts just sitting in the dirt. Some of them have growths on their faces, mucus-like coughs from the pollution, and dirty, runny noses as well as yellow eyes. Everywhere we went, they followed behind us in groups of about 10-14. They were marveled by us, and it didn’t take much on our part to get them laughing.

One of the places we went was to see Mark’s mother. Mark is a child in the TRH and is about four years old. His mother lost his sister just a few days before. We went to pray with her and pay our condolences. Before we walked into her room, I saw the most devastating thing. Outside, lying on the ground was a dirty, little boy sleeping. On him were a slew of flies. About 10 of them flew in and out of his dried out mouth. I sank within myself as this boy looked like a rotting carcass-he was only sleeping. No person, let alone a child should ever sleep like that. I had to peel my eyes away from this sight as we walked into Mark’s mother’s room. We prayed with her, and my heart ached once more at the helplessness of these people.

When we left her room, Chris and Betty went to fellowship with some of their friends right outside in Luganda (the native language here). There was a gathering group of children near by. I followed Dawn as we went to play with some of these children. We kicked the soccer ball, tickled them, took pictures, and laughed as they attacked us. To be honest, I loved it. That is what I feel like I came here to do. Walk into the slums with these people, love them, and put smiles on the faces of these children. It was an amazing honor to be the person who made them smile today. Unfortunately, the smiles didn’t last all that long as we made our way to see Richard’s mom.

Richard is a nineteen-year-old boy who works in the DP offices. He is one of my favorite, new friends. He is sarcastic, witty, and always smiling. We’ve been praying for his mother, and I’ve been keeping up with him on her health. Just when I thought my heart couldn’t handle the hurt of these people, it got much more personal. We had to hold hands as we felt our way into her room. It was so dark you could hardly see anything. Inside, she sat on the floor with her hand covering her face. Her eyes have been hurting and she cannot see. Betty cried from helplessness and not knowing what to say. Seeing my friend, Richard’s mom there was so sad. We prayed healing for her, and shared what smiles we had left in us to give her. Though she couldn’t see us, I know she was blessed by our presence. To be sick and lonely is far worse than to be sick and in fellowship.

After leaving Richard’s mother, we slowly made our way back to the railroad. I loved watching Chris and Betty talk with people they have built these relationships with. They brought them the powerful medicine of a cheerful heart and love. As we got closer to the railroad tracks, terror set in. We stopped just before leaving the slum area because Chris and Betty were talking to people. Somehow they got into their own conversations and we (the teams of 4 white girls) slowly began to get bombarded.

First a man came up to us trying to speak French. We told him we didn’t know what he was saying. Then he came at us in English. He asked for our emails and addresses. While he was talking, a woman came crawling up to us. She was begging for money. Before I could even process that, a woman tapped my shoulder. I turned around and she was showing me her wound. On her shin was a sickly looking cut. They were all speaking Lugandan, and we didn’t know what they were saying exactly. But we knew they were begging. While this woman was talking another man came up asking for 500 shillings over and over. He was followed by yet another woman. She was nursing her child, breast out, and aggressively pleading with us. We walked away from all of them only to be followed by a girl named Lydia. She was also making up reasons to get our emails and addresses. And once again they slowly continued to gather one by one. I felt as if walls were closing in on me. We were being harassed, and I felt overwhelmed. Finally one of us just interrupted Chris and said, “We have to go. We are getting hassled.” He felt horrible and was quick to get us out. The first man who approached us kept following Chris. He was telling Chris that we were the only way to get the kids out of there. He continued pestering until Chris lovingly said the right thing to make him stop and walk away. At this point, I just wanted nothing more than to cry and run so far away.

We made our way back to the railroad tracks where we were still followed until we got to the end of the tracks and back to the hustle and bustle of the city. We once again followed our friends back to the taxi pad where they took care of us. They paid for our taxi, and sent us on the correct car taking us directly home. I was overwhelmed not only by the experience, but even more so that I was headed to a place I can call home. I was leaving the slums. The people I just prayed for….were not.

This is only a small, small portion of all we did in the slums. I already have written so much, and only included less than half of what we did. We visited many other mothers and prayed for many women. We played with many kids, and were even offered drugs once. Which was nice only for some comedic relief. However, the day in the slums was trying, sobering, and an honor to love those people. No amount of money can do what a personal visit does.

After seeing the slums and processing all that I saw, I cannot stop at mourning. I cannot stop at sorrow. I must utilize these things to realize that tomorrow the Lord has given me an even greater reason to smile. To leave the joy of those children at the slums does them a disservice. The Lord can use them to press me into further joy in the life I have. I will never forget this day. I will always remember slum outreach. I will rejoice for the blessings I have. I will share the smiles of those children with the world.

Hadijah

On Friday of this week, we went to the TRH. The TRH is the The Rehabilitation House for the youngest children of Dwelling Places. They range from a child named Sirus at the age of about 1½ to older girls around the age of 13 or 14. Spending time at the TRH has been one of the most moving experiences I’ve had. We walked up a long ally way and into the gates of the children’s’ home. Before we even stepped inside, we were greeted with hugs and kids climbing all over us. They were absolutely delighted to have us with them. Most of the girls wear basic, green dresses that have been worn and torn. The boys wear whatever clothes their caretakers seemed to have found for them. (After revisiting the following few days, you quickly realize that you identify the children by what they wear cause their clothes rarely change.)

A misconception I had prior to coming here was that Dwelling Places is an orphanage. While some of these kids are orphans, the reason they are all here is that they have come from the streets. Dwelling Places seeks to rehabilitate them and reconcile them to their families. If relatives are not present, they take care of them until they ease into independent living. These kids want so desperately to be embraced and loved. They fought for our attention and at times could even be overwhelming. But after the initial excitement of our arrival, things calmed down a bit, and we were able to disperse ourselves among them and invest in their worlds.

It didn’t take long for little Sirus to get in my arms. He can somewhat totter around on his own, but he isn’t talking yet. I love getting to hold him, and make him smile. It makes my heart heavy to look into his big, beautiful eyes and know that he came from being on the streets. When I hold his precious, small body in my arms, I just want to hold him so gently and so closely that he feels nothing but safety and love. I am honored for the opportunity to be the one person that day that got to love him. I am honored to have held him. I am honored to learn gratitude from this small boy who cannot yet speak.

Later, I made my way into their large play room for a while. Dawn and I got attacked left and right by children high on energy. They were making us laugh and wearing us out. But we loved every minute of it. Needing a break from the hectic playroom, I made my way up the steps and around the corner only to set my eyes on one of the most amazing sights I’ve seen.

Hadijah is a 11-13 year old child in Dwelling Places. She has Cerebral Palsy. When we first arrived, she was sitting on the porch with her blue jeans half way on, and a dirty, brown tank top. She sat there with adventure in her eyes. But when I came around the corner, she was in Jessica’s arms with her feet on top of Jessica’s walking. Jessica walked her up and down the sidewalk. Hadijah’s face was lit up with sheer joy and wonder. She marveled at her own accomplishment. I assisted her little adventure with applause and cheer. After we sat her down to take a break, Jessica picked her up and carried her to the tire swing. We tag teamed to get her strong, beautiful legs into the middle of the swing. She threw her arms over the top and held on with all she had. She swung for about ten minutes and was glowing. We then carried her back to the porch where I ran to sit next to her and rejoice with her over the fun she’d had. While I sat there, she kept pointing back at the swing and moaning. Not fully understanding, I taught her to high five and kept smiling with her.

I had gotten up to play soccer with one of the children for about three minutes only to turn around and see Hadijah making efforts to crawl back to the swing. My heart melted within me and broke all at once. She just wanted to swing. That’s all she wanted; was to swing so badly. I couldn’t keep myself from rushing toward her to scoop her up and put her right back in that tire swing. She threw her arms over the top again to hold on, and I pushed her until it was past time to go. While she swung, I smiled my tears back into my eyes. Seeing her so happy in those moments touched my heart so heavily. She was happy, she was laughing, she was living.

When it was time to go, I carried her back to the porch, and walked away waving at Hadijah with her pants on properly and a smile on her face. We walked back down the ally, and the whole way home until I broke down.

During my time here in Uganda, sometimes I find myself so homesick or missing my friends and family. I was on my knees in gratitude that I not only have parents who love me at home, but friends amongst that as well. And unlike Hadijah, I do not have to fight 18 other people for attention from them. I look at a child like a Hadijah, and find myself hoping that she doesn’t have parents. Because she came from the streets and it’s more disturbing to think that she has parents who would have left her there. I want to be home, I want a warm shower, I want a glass of cold water, or even just some fruit. But Hadijah? She just wanted to swing. She wanted to walk. She wanted to feel alive.

I will never forget my time with her. She is not just a child with a disorder, but she was alone and living on the streets. My heart hurts for what she has been through, but then my heart rejoices. I rejoice that she too is beautiful. The Lord is Healer, and I pray that over her. To feel nothing but sorry for her, would be missing the power of Christ. There is so much redemption to be had here. The Lord has already used her to break the pride of my own heart. He has used her to bring gratitude in my life like a storm. Hadijah touched the hearts of everyone on my team. She has a powerful voice for the Lord’s goodness. She is fearfully and wonderfully made. There is beauty in the brokenness. I am so humbled, speechless, and honored to have crossed paths with Hadijah.