Saturday, September 28, 2013

The Answers Are Simple


I went for a walk today. I thought I was going to exercise my muscles, but now my brain hurts.

After church, two Canadian volunteers and I went for a walk up the road past Noah’s Ark. We have been to the town of Mukono multiple times, but we had never ventured in another direction. Being told it was safe, we went out to explore and get some exercise.

It’s amazing to see the difference in how two different families live, even neighbors. There were a whole variety of houses and living conditions along the mile-or-so stretch of road we walked. Many houses were made out of bricks with a tin roof. This seems to be the standard middle-class house. They are small, but they are sturdy. Some were merely a wood frame with cracked mud walls with a roof made of sticks and grass. And then there was one that looked more adobe-like, with painted walls, glass in the windows, a nice curtain in the doorway, and even an antennae for I-don’t-know-what.

The land surrounding the houses was also divided into three main uses. For some, it was simply dirt. Dusty when it is dry, muddy when it rains. Families can do whatever they want in that area—hang laundry, cook, play games with kids. It’s a dirty blank canvas. The second use is to farm it. Beans, bananas, mangoes, avocados, and other fruits and vegetables are not hard to find here. The third way we saw land used was to make bricks. This is purely economical and not remotely aesthetic. If you dig far enough into the ground, you will reach a clay-like substance that serves as the main ingredient in bricks. One house we passed had a yard that looked like it had been rototilled ten times over in the pouring rain. The family said they dig up a section, add some water, and make bricks to sell. They felt very blessed to have such good land to support them. We silently wondered how they could live in such filth.

I don’t react to these living conditions in the way I expected I would. When it was all in my head, imagining these houses based on pictures and stories, the solutions seemed so simple. They just needed better houses. Or they just needed more money. Or an education. Whatever it was, it was always something we could swoop in and do, or at least tell them how to do it.

What I hadn’t considered was that even though these people would love to improve their lives or situations in some way, they have also been living life like this for a very long time and are quite good at it. It’s not like they sit in their Eeyore-houses waiting for someone to come promote social justice and give them a hand. They farm. They set up fruit stands and sell food to passers-by. They do laundry. They have a rhythm and method that, for the most part, works. This is their life and even if they don’t have material comforts like me, they seem comfortable in their ways.

I am not as comfortable here. This is not what I am used to. I thought that coming here would make me feel even guiltier about everything I have back home. After seeing poverty firsthand, how could I ever go back to having a car and an apartment full of stuff just for me? How could I ever go on dates or spend money on a vacation? How could I ever live more than just a small step above what these people do?

I have found that not only could I go back to it all—I long to. (Keep in mind that I have only been here two weeks. There are still ten more to go.) I long to be in the place I grew up. I long to have the familiarity of my routine. I always thought living in America and serving the poor around the world was halfhearted. Is it okay to be comfortable while I am serving those who are not? Am I still doing what God asks of me if I am not right in the middle of the need?

The answers might be simple, but the solutions are not. Yes, these people would do well with better houses, but who is in a position to provide that? We have so many reality TV shows back home where professional designers and carpenters come in and remodel houses that we call dilapidated. Everyone’s favorite part of the show is at the end when the family sees their brand new house for the first time. They are ecstatic, they cry, they laugh, and everyone lives happily ever after in big houses with color schemes and lots of toys for the kids.

What I wouldn’t give to see the looks on a Ugandan’s face when they walk into a brand new 12-foot by 14-foot house with room for beds and a table and an overhead light.

They say the world is getting smaller. If that is so, how do we still take so much for granted? If the world is getting smaller, these people are our neighbors and family more than ever before… so how do we help them? What changes would be for the better and what ones would destroy their culture and livelihood?

Peter and Pita would be the first to tell you that change starts small. They started with a house in Kampala and one child. Now they run a full-blown organization in Mukono and have 155 children. We can’t focus on how to change the face of Uganda and ensure better lives for all its citizens. We can focus on that one family down the street who needs more firewood today or money for their children to attend school next year.

The answers are simple; the solutions are not.











Sunday, September 22, 2013

Fighting for Love


It’s not fair.

It’s not fair that 30 or 40 toddlers need to share half a dozen aunties. They should each have two parents. That’s how God created it. This ratio is all out of whack.

I don’t know what to do at the children’s home. The first lucky child gets to be in my arms and then at least two more cling to me sobbing because they want to be held too. I feel like it does more harm than good. This was not what I expected.

In childcare at church, sometimes we would run into the problem of multiple kids wanting to sit in our laps while we read a book or listened to a story. The thing was, they were okay with sharing—one kid on one knee, one on the other, and one sitting on either side with our arms around them. We could accommodate. If it didn’t work, we would gently push them off and tell them to sit on the floor and after fussing a little they would oblige. But with these kids, they want it all and they’re not obliged to share or wait. If they’re not the closest one to me, it’s not close enough. They don’t understand what it means to wait. They’re not happy being next to me. It’s not enough.

At home when we play with Emma, Aaron’s goddaughter, there are at least two and often more of us vying for her attention. We all want her to love us best. We fight over her.

In the last year-and-a-half that has caused a few arguments and hard feelings between Aaron and me. I want him to share his precious goddaughter of his, but he loves her so much sometimes he gets excited and forgets. What a problem, right?

There is a Friends episode that illustrates this nicely. Before I explain the episode, here is a bit of background information: Carol and Ross were married. She left him for another woman, but right after that found out she was pregnant. It turned into a weird triangle thing between Carol, Ross, and Susan (Carol’s new partner), where Ross and Susan would continually fight over who was going to be a better and more legitimate parent.

In this episode, through a series of events, Ross, Susan, and Phoebe (a friend) get locked in a closet in the hospital while Carol is in labor. Susan and Ross start yelling at each other and get into a heated argument about whose baby it really is. Meanwhile, Phoebe is sitting on a bucket listening to the whole thing with a huge grin on her face.

“This is so great!” she says excitedly. Immediately Ross and Susan stop talking.

“Excuse me?” says Ross.

Realizing they are looking for an explanation, she says, “Well, when I was growing up, my dad ran out on my sister and me, and my mom killed herself, and my grandma tried looking after us, but we barely had enough pieces of parents to make one whole parent. And here this baby is, not even born yet, and it’s go three parents who are arguing over who gets to love it the most! It’s the luckiest kid in the world.”

She nailed it.

These kids are not the luckiest kids in the world. They are hungry for personal attention and individual love. It’s no wonder they want to be the only one in my lap—they’re never the only one anywhere. The only thing they don’t have to share is their name, and with over 150 kids here, that seems like it will be impossible for me to learn them all.

These kids shouldn’t have to fight for love. No child should ever have to fight to be loved.

I used to wonder how anyone knew how to set limits or boundaries on the good they did. Were they really showing compassion if they didn’t try to help everybody? Even if I opened a children’s home like this, how could I stop with one if there are more orphans out there?

“Do for one as you would do for everyone.” One of many nuggets of wisdom Dawn has shared with me in the past few years. Since I have been here, I have been feeling more and more like that is what God is calling me to do. I disliked that saying when I first heard it because then what happens to everyone? How can anyone afford to think so small scale? But now, after beginning to experience a larger-scale picture, I absolutely think that if everyone did for one what we would do for everyone, there wouldn’t be anything overwhelming about it. People look at the big picture, at the whole of the problem, and they sink. They can’t handle it, so they don’t handle anything. Some are blessed with the ability to handle a medium picture like Noah’s Ark or Compassion International. And some are called to focus on one small piece, a select few people, while God orchestrates all these small pieces into a mosaic that really makes a difference.

One resolution I have made in the last few days: I want to be the best mother and sponsor in the world. Someday, I want to get married and adopt some children and love them with all the love I have for all the children who are suffering. I want my children to know love to the fullest and never have to fight for it. I want to give them a chance at life and love that they wouldn’t have otherwise. And I am beginning to believe the scale on which I will do that is perhaps much smaller than I originally thought.







Wednesday, September 18, 2013

It's All Fun and Games Until Someone Needs to Plan a Christmas Cantata


I’ve been at Noah’s Ark three days and have already become a permanent fixture in their weekly staff meetings. Now, these meetings are not for all the staff here—they are for about a dozen people in various leadership roles throughout the compound. So much for stepping down from leadership and playing with babies for the next three months.

(I did get to play with babies today, however. There is one who is quite… well, round. You might call him a roly-poly little guy. The funny thing is, that description would be literal. He can’t crawl yet, so he gets around by rolling himself over and over again until he gets where he wants to go. Combine that with his toothy grin and he’s a fun one to watch!)

Anyway, Daniel led me to believe (unintentionally, I’m sure) that tonight he and I were going to meet with Mama and Papa to discuss my role for the next three months. Imagine my surprise when I showed up to the meeting and there were already ten people there! As it turned out, I was invited because tonight we started the planning process for our first ever Christmas cantata. Papa wants to start a Noah’s Ark tradition in which children and staff put on a Christmas gospel presentation through music, dance, drama, and a message. It will be presented a handful of evenings shortly before Christmas as a way to connect with the community and help them see that Christmas is about more than food and new clothes, which is typically what characterizes the holiday in this culture. We all think it sounds like a great idea, but it is going to be a chore putting the whole thing together for the first time, especially considering that Mama and Papa will be in Holland for the month of October.

SALT, The “W”, High School Camp… I am getting my fair share of putting together guinea pig programs and having no idea how they will turn out.

I am one of two people charged with the task of doing some research to find out what similar programs have been done in other places, what resources are available to us, and to begin piecing together the major elements and overall flow of the program… and it just hit me what a big task this is. Seriously, as I wrote that, my eyes bugged out a little. When Papa asked if I would be willing, it seemed like I would mostly be watching YouTube videos of other cantatas. That is so not the case. Here goes… something.

God, you surprise me so often. I did not expect to have an opportunity or task like this while I was here. Please help me rise up to the challenge. Give me the humility and courage to ask for help when I need it—humility to admit there are a lot of things I don’t know, and courage to ask someone I haven’t met or who seems altogether too busy already. Infuse my mind with creativity as I consider what this program could be. Help me be a fast learner as I try to better understand everything from how the internet works here to what elements of Ugandan culture to include. (Why couldn’t they be planning something I have at least done before?) Please encourage me when I am frustrated. Most of all, as I research and plan how to best share your amazing message with others, may it take root in my heart in a brand new, captivating way so that I can not only present this to a target audience, but I can also be the target audience. 

Sunday, September 15, 2013

My New Home


It’s hard to do morning devotions when monkeys are throwing nuts at your window. Try it sometime… you’ll see. This morning, as I was trying to focus on a passage in Genesis, the running commentary in my head went more like this: What exactly are they throwing at the window? What happens if they break it? Will they come in? Who do I tell? Is it common for a volunteer to find a staff person here to tell them monkeys broke into their room? Will they eat my trail mix? Fortunately, the window is still intact and I don’t expect the monkeys again until tomorrow. God is good.

This place is very different. Not only in the fact that I can watch monkeys outside instead of squirrels, but in so many other ways. They speak differently. They eat different foods. They discipline differently. They worship differently. They pronounce names differently. They have a different concept of supervision. It is all very new to me. I must say, it has not been the easiest transition. Some of you are rolling your eyes and shaking your heads and thinking, “Duh, Katie, what did you expect it to be?” Well, honestly, I expected it to feel more natural. I think I figured that if God was asking me to come here and do this, He would have a place prepared for me and I could fit into that place right away. That has not exactly been the case.

After a tour of Noah’s Ark, my instructions for the first three days were to relax. I’m pretty sure an additional “observe” and “interact” were also implied, so that is what I have been busy doing. Most of my time has been spent in the children’s home, where everyone under 12 lives. When I enter the building, one child will notice right away and come take my hand. The swift movements of the first child (or the not-so-swift movements for those who can’t yet walk but reach for me anyway) alert surrounding children to my presence, and more often than not I end up with one child on my hip, two others holding my hand, and three or four huddled around me, at least one of whom is crying because I didn’t pick him up this time. It’s a lot of drama, if you ask me.

One thing I have learned in my just-over-24-hours-here: every situation is at least 75 percent less awkward if you have a child on your hip.  Don’t know where the dirty dishes go? There’s not a whole lot I can do when there’s a baby in my arms. Everybody’s talking to each other and I’m not included? I’ll just make faces at this little kid. Don’t know the words to the song? I’ll dance with this child instead. Seriously, you should try it. Unless of course you don’t like small children, in which case I really doubt it will decrease the awkwardness of the situation.

Tomorrow is when I sit down with the volunteer coordinator and we figure out my role here for the next three months. It already sounds like I will not be spending the entire time playing with babies. Less than an hour after I arrived, the man who leads Sunday school each week tried recruiting me as his new teacher. And this afternoon I had the opportunity to sit down with Mama and Papa (what everyone calls the couple who founded and run Noah’s Ark) and they told me they would like to have me co-lead a weekly Bible study for 50 teenagers and possibly tutor some students before exams in November. My prayer is simply that I will be used where they need me most… and that God will equip me to fill whatever roles in which they place me.

I will admit, it has been a lonely two days here. I miss my home. I miss my family, both of the Schinnell variety and the Kregness one. I miss having internet and a phone. There are a lot of people here, but none of whom I would call a friend yet. In this time, I am trying to learn and remember that wherever God is, that is my home, whether it be in America or Africa, camp or a children’s home. God is my strength and refuge and shelter no matter where I am, and He is as much my Father here as He is when I am someplace comfortable.

The Lord did bless me this afternoon with a small gift of familiarity—the first song we sang in church was one of the two Swahili songs I already knew. I learned it my first summer at LWBC when a Kenyan worship leader came to lead one night at camp, and today I had the privilege to sing it again with 150 Ugandans… funny how God works, isn’t it?