God vs Frozen Hamburger Buns

I set a timer on my phone for five minutes. The same five minutes I always do at the beginning of TAG (Time Alone with God—what most people call devotions). Clear my head, meditate on the Lord, try to quiet my thoughts enough to hear from him if he has something to tell me. Prepare myself for the rest of the hour of prayer, Bible reading, and journaling. 

Setting my phone down on the floor next to me, I glance up at the skylight. It is nine in the evening and still light, which feels like a miracle after being in Uganda, where it grows dark at seven in the evening without fail, year round. Clouds blanket this Dutch city, holding in the chill, which is why I am wearing my fleece onesie as I sit. 

Meditate. 

Be still and know that I am God.

Inhale… exhale… Father.

Inhale… exhale… Jesus.

Inhale… exhale… Spirit.

You. Are. God.

Inhale… exhale… Father.

Inhale… exhale… Jesus.

Inhale… exhale… Patricia is still awake, I can hear it. I put her in bed half an hour ago, late for her, but we were running late with everything this evening. She is reading. Well, “reading.” This afternoon she fell asleep with a book draped across her stomach, a position with which I am very familiar and proud to have seen on my two-year-old. Her voice is so sweet. What is she saying? When I told her I was going to read my Bible she also asked for her Bible, so I know she has her little cardboard Bible-counting book. 

But wait, I am still meditating. 

Inhale… exhale… Spirit. 

You. Are. God.

Inhale.. exhale… Father.

Inhale… What other stories about Thomas should I include in my half-written blog post? There are so many about him, but how many can I remember well enough to vividly recount? I wish I had had time to finish it already. What I wouldn’t give for an hour or two of silence—during the day, when I am not worn out at night—to just write. Without interruption. Without background noise. How I miss being able to concentrate. My writing has really gone downhill since having children. Something about only being able to write two consecutive sentences at a time—

Oh wait. These five minutes are for God. Get those other things out of my head. 

Inhale… exhale… Jesus.

Inhale… exhale… Spirit. It was really fun to talk with the other mom at the playground this morning. Christian said he was proud of me for striking up a conversation in Dutch with someone I didn’t know, and keeping it going without her suspecting (at least to my knowledge) that I am not from around here. Well okay, I did mention I live in Uganda so she knows I don’t live around here, but it’s still possible she thinks I am from somewhere else in the Netherlands. Funny, when most people hear that I live in Uganda they start to ask questions and be interested, but she didn’t pry into that. We just talked about our kids. Why didn’t she want to know more? 

Ugh, that is one hundred percent not the point of this time. 

You. Are. God.

Inhale… It was really fun to see Ineke and Claudia today. How refreshing to spend hours talking to people who are familiar with Noah’s Ark and Uganda and not needing to explain the basics of what we do and what the organization is. I’m so happy they could come. 

Oh, come on, Katie… 

Inhale… exhale… Father. 

Inhale… exhale… Jesus. 

Inhale… exhale… Spirit.

You. Are. God. 

Shoot, I wanted to prepare a lot of tomorrow’s cooking tonight. I could have made the potato salad tonight, even the bean burgers to put in the fridge so that tomorrow while the kids are awake I don’t need to spend my time cooking. But I also want to go to bed in time so I can wake up early to do TAG and go for a run in the morning, and I know from experience that if I don’t go to bed early enough it dashes my chances of being able to start my day in a very positive way. Then I won’t stay up late cooking tonight, but I can at least get the frozen hamburger buns out of the freezer before I go to bed. 

Oh wow. God, are you frustrated with me yet? If I were you, I would leave me alone and go listen to the prayers of all your children in Afghanistan who are running for their lives—for you. Am I really getting distracted from you by frozen hamburger buns and cookies I didn’t remember to bake? How can I let myself do that? What does that say about the place I give you? What kind of Christianity do I have compared to those in Afghanistan? 

Inhale… exhale… Father.

Inhale… exhale… Jesus. 

Inhale… exhale… Spirit.

You. Are. God.

Inhale… exhale… Father. My hands feel really dry. 

Inhale… exhale… Jesus. 

Inhale… exhale… Spirit. Patricia stopped talking. I am willing to bet she fell asleep. It makes me so happy that most nights she falls asleep without a fight. 

Agh—

You. Are. God.

Why do we need to sort the trash in the Netherlands? It is so complicated, what goes in each bin and what counts as plastic and what doesn’t, that I know they need to sort it again at the plant (or wherever it is the trash goes). Wouldn’t it be even easier to throw everything together and they can sort it all—

Timer. 

Five minutes. 

For God. 

Only maybe not.

The Thing the Devil Does Right

Now you, man of God, run from these things; but pursue righteousness, godliness, faith, love, endurance, and gentleness. Fight the good fight of the faith… (1 Timothy 6:11-12)

God places a huge premium on living, breathing faith. In fact, the more you search the Scriptures, the more you discover that nothing is more important to God than our faith. 

But God is not the only one who puts a high priority on this issue of our faith. Satan also has no greater focus in a single area of our lives. Though he is no match for God, he is a powerful and dangerous foe of believing man and woman. 

Not coincidentally, then—because the stakes are so high—both God and the devil are targeting our faith. They know faith works. We need to know it too. 

(Beth Moore, “Believing God”)

——————————

We really tried with the teachers. The secondary school library staff, which included myself, Farouk (my full-time librarian) and five student librarians, had come up with a plan to convince the teachers that we are on their side and that the library can actually supplement what they are teaching in class, not distract students from it. We searched the library and pulled out hundreds of books from all the different sections, putting them in separate boxes for science, history, English, and the other subjects. We found books with experiments for when students are learning about electricity, a historical fiction novel about a blind girl in Europe during World War II for when they study that war in history, biographies of Nelson Mandela for those learning about apartheid, and so many more. We had evidence to back up our claims of the library’s helpfulness and we were ready to argue our points. 

Only they didn’t come. 

Out of the more than twenty teachers we invited to meet with us, we saw three. Out of those three, two sat quietly and ate their lunches while we talked. The third spent half the meeting arguing with us, trying to convince us that it is actually a bad thing for students to have access to information. (Nope, I am not making this up.) If students have access to information, then they will start to question the teachers, or worse, learn things the teachers were not yet ready to teach them. Absolute worst case scenario, they will make the teachers look like fools if they learn something the teachers don’t know. 

All in all, our plan was a bust. None of the teachers were convinced that the library could possibly be a good thing for their students. 

As those three teachers walked away, I turned to Farouk and said, “Well, at least he cared enough to argue.” 

Honestly, out of all the teachers who either sat there and didn’t say a word, or all the teachers who didn’t come at all, I preferred the one who argued. I preferred the one who snapped back. At least he listened to enough of what we were saying to decide he disagreed with it. He was the only one who found our argument worth arguing with. That was a hundred times better than indifference. 

My husband is the physicist in our relationship, but there are a few things I took away from my excruciating (sorry Mrs. Pattison, you are a great teacher—I just really, really disliked the subject) high school physics class. One of them is that it takes less energy to keep an object in motion that it does to get an object into motion.

Let me illustrate this for you. 

In the Netherlands, everybody rides a bicycle. It is by no means the only mode of transportation, but it is a popular one. It is actually one of the things Christian misses most when we are in Uganda. We love biking here, whether it be winter or summer, near or far, an intentionally long distance or because we got lost. I was pleasantly surprised how easy it was to bike while pregnant, and also how quickly after delivery I was able to get on the bike comfortably again. 

Now that we are in the Netherlands with kids, it is a bit different. Christian has a seat for Elliot on the front of his bike, and I have one for Patricia that sits above my back wheel. In principle, biking itself is exactly the same… only Patricia is heavy. I notice her weight a little bit while we are moving, but I notice it a lot when I need to get moving. The first few times when a stop light turned green, Christian with his long legs and smaller baby shot out ahead of us, and I tripped and stumbled to keep the bike upright long enough to get my feet on the pedals and get moving before we annoyed the people behind us. It takes so much energy to get both of us into motion. 

Do you know who is already in motion? 

Satan is moving, and moving fast. That guy cares enough to get moving. He is not indifferent about God. He is not stagnant. He is invested. He is on the move. He has devoted one hundred percent of his time, energy, and resources to opposing God. He knows God is that important. 

Do we? 

How many people devote one hundred percent of their time, energy, and resources to God? How many put him in a position of such importance in their lives? I have to say, sadly and honestly, that my priorities are too divided. I do not pursue God like I should. I do not pursue God like I want to. I am one hundred percent certain Satan knows the scriptures better than I do.

Who would have thought we could learn from the devil’s example something to do right? 

At least he cares. He knows the power of God. Do we? Do we really want to? 

What would the world look like if we lived with the same intensity as Satan? What would happen if we pursued God with the same passion and zeal as the devil uses to oppose him? We cannot afford to be indifferent. We cannot afford to be stagnant. Or motionless. Or lazy. We cannot fight the good fight of the faith without moving. 

It takes energy. It takes courage. It takes risk. It takes faith. 

Is God worth the energy it takes to get moving? 

2,429 gifts

For anyone who read my last post, it was a little bit… bleak. Depressing. After writing it that afternoon, I told Christian, “I wrote a blog post for the first time in a long time, but I think it might be too negative to post.” But it was true, and I did, and, well, it’s there and that’s that. Just in case you missed it and somehow got convinced by this paragraph that it is worth reading, you can find it here: It's Not Over.

I decided to post it because it accurately reflects how I feel sometimes. Not all the time, but regularly, whether it be on a mild or severe level. However, it is important to note that that is not always how I feel. Not by a long shot. God is so good, and I know that goodness all the time, and I feel it some of the time. I am on a journey (aren’t we all?) of learning and trying to take in and experience his goodness more and more. 

A very important step in that journey—or rather, the catalyst for such a journey—happened seven-and-a-half years ago. I had recently returned from volunteering in Uganda for the first time and had decided to go back to Noah’s Ark as a missionary a few months later. It was a challenge to sort out commitments to camp, Noah’s Ark, my boyfriend, my family and friends in America and Uganda, and I did not always handle that challenge gracefully. 

In the midst of all that, I read a book called One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp. In that book, Ann describes her journey of learning to give thanks to God—daily, regular, open-the-eyes-of-my-heart thanksgiving in the best and worst of circumstances. I won’t tell you more because I think you should read the book yourself, but one thing she shared in her book was that she was challenged to make a list of one thousand things she was thankful for—one thousand gifts from God. 

I know with certainty I am not the only one who read that book and then bought my own journal to start a list of gifts God has given me. It was spring 2014 when I wrote my first entry: 

1. geese that make funny sounds that make me laugh

What, you didn’t expect my first entry of a thousand things to be thankful for to be geese? Neither did I. I do remember sitting at a park outside Madison as I read and journaled that day, and that between all the long, yellow grass in the pond there was a flock of geese. I don’t remember the sound they made, but I do remember that it was an unusually sunny day after the coldest winter in 35 years, and my number two reflects that: 

2. warm sunshine on my face

And I continued. I made a goal of writing three things every day. Some days I forgot. Some days I couldn’t think of anything new. Some days I got carried away and wrote ten or twenty. I filled one journal and started the next. I wrote in Uganda, I took it with me on furlough, when I got married, when my children were born. Last year I decided to accompany the entries with dates so I could more easily see when I was thankful for particular things and what seasons of my life prompted such gratitude. 

I intended to write this post in the first week of January, freshly released from 2020 and ready to take on 2021. My Facebook feed was full of people celebrating the end of such an awful year, and I can’t blame them. But I had no desire to join them. 2020 was different. It came with new challenges, we all know that. But it also came with new blessings. New opportunities. New moments in which God opened my eyes and my heart and filled me with gratitude for blessings big and small. 

So even though, as you read in my last post, we are still very much in the middle of Covid here in Uganda, and even though sometimes I feel trapped and stuck and frustrated, I am thankful. 

To date, I have written 2,429 things for which I am thankful. I am on my third journal. I have probably repeated things over the years because, let’s be honest, when I feel gratitude for something I am not going to pore over a hundred pages of my list just to see if I have already said thank you to God for that particular thing. 

Today I want to share a few entries from the last year—from the beginning of the pandemic up to now. Because the truth is, even in the midst of what many call the worst year ever, it has really been a great year for at least 990 reasons…

1,430. Christian’s support of me pumping breastmilk for Babirye even though it took a lot of my time

1,432. when I was sitting alone on my bed, reading through the last several chapters of the book of John, the way the Easter story came alive in my heart this year

1,436. our fridge, freezer, stove and oven

1,596. yesterday marked six years since I moved to Uganda

1,601. enough printers on the compound that even when four don’t work, there is still a way to print homework

1,684. I am known by God

1,739. the patience to calmly deal with discipline cases all afternoon and not blow up at the children for interrupting me

1,759. Simone washed all our windows and now they don’t bother me anymore

1,762. hearing my dad’s laugh in my head when Patricia does something funny

1,771. I cannot hear a single mosquito this morning

1,765. a short list of boys’ names on which we agree

1,769. a reminder of the urgency of the gospel

1,779. Little Peanut, aka Elliot Mukisa Berkman, is here!

1,784. managing to naturally deliver a 3.9 kilogram baby without pain medication

1,820. the book Bright Evening Star by Madeleine L’Engle

1,828. the gift of a chunk of pumpkin from the neighbors and the possibility of pumpkin muffins

1,830. toys for the children to play with at our house

1,881. having two young children in the house, knowing where they are and that they are okay all the time

1,945. the feeling of relief after waking up from a bad dream

1,994. the younger kids, like Isaac and Asaf, joining band

1,998. uplifting phone calls with Ruth, Josephine and Vanessa

1,999. the joy of a fully chaotic house and yard with the kids in the afternoon

2,004. democracy

2,097. watching Zadock focus so much and work so hard on his shading sheet

2,099. the holiday program aunties participate wholeheartedly in Monday morning games

2,100. Lydia teaching stomp with me

2,169. our Olympics opening ceremonies went well

2,180. “Patricia, wat was het hoogtepunt van jouw dag?” “Papa!”

2,223. spending part of the night sleeping next to Elliot and seeing his cute, sweet little face when I open my eyes

2,226. back scratches

2,262. new, nice neighbors

2,299. despite being the only nurse and working full-time, Rachel does her job with as much love, joy, patience and care as ever

2,302. Big Josephine tutoring Little Josphine and giving her much-needed help in school

2,303. Yulia has prepared a lot and planned a really good camp to do with the children

2,315. P.4s enjoyed reading games so much that the next class over had to tell us to be quiet

2,349. the small group of teenagers who are putting full days and lots of energy into Bible Camp

2,373. a mattress cover so when we have sleepovers and children wet the bed the clean-up is still minimal

2,374. Patricia’s prayers

2,420. we made it to the Netherlands

It's Not Over

In December 2020, I sat at our clinic and listened to the doctor say how happy she was that 2020 was finally ending and that 2021 would bring a fresh start. Like much of the world, she was optimistically convinced that Covid was a thing of that year and could not follow us as we moved forward. New year, new problems, but let’s throw out the old. 

I disagreed with her very much. Of course January first would not be magical. Of course people who went to sleep sick on the last day of 2020 did not wake up miraculously healed on the first day of 2021. Of course things would not just hop back to normal. 

By that time, schools in Uganda were partially opened. To make room for social distancing, only a few classes of students were allowed to return to school in October, meaning most of the school-going children in the country had spent the last nine months without any formal education. The government produced homework study packets—hard copies, because not everyone can afford internet for such things—but even though they were supposed to be free, in most places the distributors asked exorbitant amounts of money for them, which meant most students had no option but to do without. The money simply wasn’t there. 

In February schools opened a bit more. More classes were allowed to come back. The Ministry of Education even published a four-year plan of how to get schools back on track with a normal school calendar after such a long hiatus. Things looked promising. 

Most people in the country went back to life as normal. I know this primarily secondhand, since to leave our compound we still needed to have a gate pass signed by one of three people in the management team, only one of whom actually lives on the compound. We tried to do the responsible thing and stay inside the compound as much as possible, only taking an occasional outing to file papers for my work permit. For Christian’s birthday, we were extravagant and hired a car to take us to a swimming pool down the road for the morning. It was a BIG day for us. 

I made a five-month homeschool and camp program that would last until July 2021, which was supposed to be the end of the 2020 school year. Finally we could plan some things without asking every week what the next step was going to be or what lockdown would look like next month. It felt good to be sure of something. It felt good to be able to put something on paper—something that had a period, not a question mark.

Since the rest of the world began to open up as the vaccine became available, we felt like we could finally visit our families without being socially irresponsible. Christian’s brother is getting married in August, so we bought plane tickets to attend his wedding and spend Elliot’s first birthday with family, then make our way to America to introduce my family to the newest member. 

We expected to get a rush of excitement after buying the tickets. Instead, we felt heavy. It took a day or two to realize: It was dread. What if, for the third time in a row, this trip doesn’t work out? What if our parents have to go even longer without seeing their grandchildren? What if we don’t get our rest? 

Our trip is 11 days away, and I am still using the word “if” when I talk about it. Because I have learned that nothing is certain. Nothing is for sure, 100 percent going to happen. I refuse to fully believe we are going until we are sitting on the airplane and the wheels have left the ground. Then I will exhale. 

Six weeks ago, all schools in Uganda closed again. Completely closed, not a single student allowed. Covid had run rampant through the younger demographic this year and putting students together was exacerbating the problem. (One health professional put it very plainly when he told us, “Social distancing died an early and natural death.”) 

Once again, all 200 of our children were home. I threw away my nice paper with the five-month plan. I held some meetings to decide what to do next. I waited. I worked. Hard.

Then Covid hit closer to home. After successfully keeping the disease at bay for more than a year, it breached our compound walls and entered in. Not in a big way, but we needed to take big action to keep it contained. Everyone stay home, interact as little as possible, all nonessential work stopped. Does that sound familiar to anyone? But surely… this was a thing of the past, right? 

The country went back into lockdown too. In June, Christian and I sat and listened to the president speak (the ONLY times I have watched the news in the past decade have been to hear the president announce new Covid measures) as he announced a ban on public transportation, school closures, how overwhelmed the hospitals are, that Uganda has too few oxygen tanks and how important it is to wear a mask. When he finished, I turned to Christian and said, “We heard the exact same speech last year.” 

We seem to be going in circles. Who is playing this pandemic on repeat? 

We want to get vaccinated, but the country is out of vaccines. My sister, who organizes vaccine clinics around her state, sits in a room for a whole day and gets only one—one!—person who wants to be immunized, and the same day I read an article in a Ugandan newspaper about 800 people in Kampala who were immunized with water because that was a fast way for a few “doctors” to make some money. “Send them here!” I want to shout to my sister. “We’ll take anything you have!” 

Students have been in the same class for one-and-a-half years, and there is still no end in sight. Still no word about when schools will open for those classes, let alone reopen for everyone. I dare to guess that with every passing day schools are closed, at least one more student will decide not to come back at all. By the time we do open, social distancing should be easy.

Vaccines are coming, slowly. Healthcare workers, teachers, government workers. People are scared of both Covid and the vaccine so whether they get immunized depends on which fear is the strongest. 

Last year, when other countries were going into lockdown and everyone had to stay home except for grocery shopping and medical emergencies, I felt so blessed. Here on the compound, we had freedom. I could see 200 people in a day just by doing my job. I could still do my job. I could run a kilometer-long circle on the road inside the compound, not be confined to workouts in my living room. Compared to my friends and family, I was not at all confined. 

When you were locked up, I felt free. 

Now that you are gaining your freedom, I feel locked up. 

It has been 16 months since I went for a run off the compound. What I wouldn’t give to not have every step memorized before I make it. I even have places on my route I know I only step with my right foot, or my left, because it has become such a routine. 

These days, I prepare activities for the children from my own home and give all the homework, games and crafts to some aunties every morning. The aunties lead the activities; I do not go there myself. It has been five weeks since I have played with the children from the children’s home, even though I can see them from my front door as they play on the playground. Last week someone donated bouncing castles for a day, so Patricia and I sat on the road by our house and watched the children run around screaming and having fun. Patricia asked if she could go; I had to say no. Children shouted to me, asking if Patricia could bounce with them; I had to say no. (My solution was to borrow a mini trampoline, put it in our yard and tell Patricia that was her bouncing castle. She believed me, bless her sweet little heart.)

On the one hand, this seems so cruel. In 11 days I am leaving for three months, but I already miss the children terribly. How much will my heart hurt at the end of those three months? When I come back will I get to hug them, or will I only be allowed to wave from a distance? 

On the other hand, it makes my heart so happy that I miss them. Even after being here all the time without a break, even after serving them day in and day out, I want to be with them. I love them. I don’t want to be away from them. How God has grown my love for these children, to make part of me not want to visit my own family because for a time that means saying goodbye to my family here. As excited as I am to celebrate Elliot’s first birthday with his grandparents, I am also disappointed it means that his dear friends here have to miss out. Curse geography. 

This year feels a lot like last year. A lot like last year. Now, however, we are used to the uncertainty. We are used to not being able to plan. We are used to not knowing. This year, the uncertainty doesn’t make me nervous; it makes me weary. The stability we always took for granted—schools, grocery shopping, government offices doing their jobs—has been stuttering for the last 16 months. Sometimes those things are there, sometimes in part, sometimes not at all. And what are we left with, when all our stability is gone? When our periods have again turned into question marks? 

This afternoon I was browsing through some of my old journals and stumbled across a passage I had written on March 12 of last year, the day after we cancelled our trip to America: 

But I trust you. And I will accept this. And I will serve my heart out here so the time and the cancelled trip are not wasted. Maybe you will make it very clear in this situation why the plans have changed and maybe not, but I will not blame you for anything. I am sad and will let myself be sad, but I also trust you and choose to have peace in you. I am in your hands. This is in your hands. There is no place I would rather be.

As I was meditating this morning, God simply said to me, “This is an opportunity for you to trust me.” I will do that. I trust you, Lord.

What a long opportunity to trust him. What a long, glorious, forced opportunity to trust God. But I do. And I will. (Notice: That is a period, not a question mark.)