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?