Gateway to Joy

Do you ever just get tired of being in that same spot again? Maybe it's because the swell of grief has you back in the same pit of despair you just escaped a few hours earlier. Or it's the fight with your loved one about the same issues. Or it's that same stinkin' sin you've stumbled on. And you just.... get .... sad. 

There's an absurdity to the sadness because at the same time you're grieving, you're beating yourself up with "Really? I'm here again?". This opens the gate for pathetic Miss Self Pity who is happy to come sit in your pit right along with you whispering "Oh, poor you. You really have such a desperate situation here. It really does look hopeless, doesn't it? And no one really knows that you feel this way, do they?" She murmurs the lies to your soul and like a captive audience, you eat up every deceptive word.

I was there this morning. Ms. Pity and I were going several rounds in a spiritual wrestling match when Nehemiah marched right into the ring. This is what I heard, the crystal clear words echoed in the chambers of my pity soaked heart. "The joy of the Lord is your strength."

Hmmmmm. I am NOT feeling joyful right now, Lord. But I know that voice. So I grab a hold of Nehemiah and dig into the promise of joy, because I could use some of that here in my corner of the  ring.

In chapter 8 the Israelites are standing listening to the Levites (priestly tribe) read the Word of the Lord. They have been in captivity and have come back to find the Jerusalem wall in smithereens. After rebuilding the wall, the families assemble together from the youngest to the oldest and listen to a public reading of the Word they have neglected while in exile.

They weep and grieve as they listen. They know they have broken God's law and His Word cuts them to the quick. But rather than focus on their repentance, the main point here is God's response to their tears. (Hold onto your tissues because this is where it gets good.)

The reading of God's Word brings the Israelites to a breaking point. They are confronted with their own sin. God does not respond with, "Chin up! All you need to do is focus on the good in your lives. That will bring you joy." He doesn't say, "Oh, poor you! Too bad nobody understands your grief." God's response is "I know you are weak right now. I see your tears and your grief. I have joy and I can give it to you. All you need to do is to receive it. My joy will be your strength."

The Hebrew word for joy in Nehemiah 8:10 is hedvah and it's only found in one other place in the bible. This particular version of joy is linked to YHWH, the Lord. It's not the same joy in all the Psalms that command us to rejoice in the Lord. This joy belongs to the Lord. To better understand what the Lord's joy looks like, we'll examine the word itself.

Let's take a look at the Hebrew characters that form the verb hadah (from which the noun hedvah is derived). When ancient Hebrew was first written, each letter represented both a sound and a picture. According to one source, the three pictures respresented by the consonants in hadah might represent “behold, a door in the fence.”  Another writer interprets the three as a man joined to a crowned man that forms a wall, a doorway made of broken humility, and the Spirit that comes through the door. Both interpretations agree that this joy points to a gate or opening in the wall between us and God. The Lord is joyful because our sin no longer separates us from Him, thanks be to Jesus Christ!

So I need not continue to grieve, moan and wail that my sin has landed me right back in that same pit again. I take that self pity, that grief and that despair and confess it. I agree with what the Lord has to say about it. If He says, "Yes, I agree it is wrong that you did that, but I forgive you," I forgive myself and let His joy invade my soul.

What grieves the Lord is when I carry around burdens of guilt, shame and despair without looking for the gate in the wall between us. I walk in circles behind the wall and all the while He waits for me to unlatch the gate and trade my shame for His joy. What blows me away is that "the joy of the Lord" is derived from fellowship with me! He delights in His children so greatly that He "rejoices over us." Literally translated: he circles around us with zealous love.

It's as if our Father God is saying, "Not only do I want you to give me your junk so I can trade it for my joy. I also want to remind you that YOU ARE MY JOY!" You may not feel like you could possibly delight the Creator of the Universe. That's ok. We don't have to feel it for it to be true. God simply asks us to take Him at His Word.

That is the secret to having strength in the face of despair and hopelessness: knowing joy. Knowing that His joy is ours for the taking. And when we receive it, God is overjoyed!

Our Biggest Surprise

When we left for Uganda, we believed that we were in God's hands. We knew that we were going to experience a great adventure. The journey we were embarking on would take us further from here than we'd ever traveled before. Both geographically and spiritually. We were unsure of what to expect and in some ways, that's what made the trip exciting for us.

 In every way, this trip delivered one pleasant surprise after another. Our expectations were met and then some. From the warmth of the people, to the giant faith of Pastor Elijah, to the "mommy and daddy" hugs from our sponsored son, to the beauty and majesty of the safari creatures. Uganda did not disappoint.

But one of the most unexpected blessings of this trip has been upon our return. It is you who are reading this blog! It is the compassionate embraces and tear rimmed gazes of those who sat and listened to us share our experiences. It is the unexpected e-mail from two Maryland friends, announcing their sponsorship of not one, but TWO Hands of Love children. (Oh, and by the way, "Can you please send us all your photos? We want to see them ALL.")

It's our back-door-guests-are-best neighbors who join us for Mexican and endure a 350 photo slide show asking more questions... thinking... tossing it over in their minds. And it's their text message, bright and early the next morning "please give us more info about how we can help." It's my dear sister-in-law's response not even 10 minutes after my SOS e-mail asking "Will someone please sponsor this boy whose dad is dying of AIDS, please... now, please!" She writes, "We'd be honored."

It's the children of Lifepark church, who sat still for much longer than a 7 year old is expected to sit still. Two services of kids watching photos, listening hard, raising hands to ask just the right questions. Wondering why these Ugandan babies' bellies stick out so much and if their dirty, dusty toes cry out for shoes to cover them.

It's a new friend (and accomplished author) from Lifepark church who cheerleads Maresa's book sharing her enthusiasm, ideas and resources. The in-the-midst-of-moving friends who have 80 million other details to take care of and still give BIG to buy orphans books and, oh yes, sponsor another child. And many others, sitting across the table, heads bowed, praying for HOL's safety. It's the powerful Friday morning prayer partners begging God to dispatch His armies of angels to guard both orphanages until we can raise the money to build the stone wall they so desperately need.

You. All of you beautiful American people. The ones who have rows of shoes in your closet and get to choose your meal tonight. (Will it be tacos or tilapia?) But you look at those beautiful brown hungry faces, you listen soft with your heart and you think hard and long. Your heart hurts with ours and you ask. the. right. questions.

The questions that lead to Maria receiving her first week of 3 meals a day.

The questions that give Michael a soft bed to sleep tonight and Catherine the promise of a letter from her new sisters in Mount Pleasant, SC.

And that boy whose dad died of AIDS, a place to call home where he is welcomed by hands of love.


Thank you for surprising us dear friends and family. We don't deserve your generosity but thankfully these children do. We couldn't be happier that YOU are our best surprise. May God pour out His grace and blessings a hundred fold on every last one of you beautiful people!

The Salt of the Earth

Our days in Uganda are coming to a close. The last day before we leave, Dan and I are guided through the bush villages nestled behind the Hands of Love Orphanage in Namadhi (located about 4 hours from Kampala.) The residents of this neighborhood live in huts similar to the 8 structures built by Pastors Elijah and Ruth Sebuchu in 1994 when God called them to be His Hands of Love to the HIV/AIDS orphans of Uganda.

Our purpose for a short visit to these dusty palm roofed dwellings is to hand deliver some basic necessities: a few bags of salt, bars of soap and boxes of matches. We make our rounds with Faustine, the body guard --whose sharp eyes steadily scan the bush --and Mercy, a HOL teacher who makes regular visits here. As Mercy guides us, mercy compels us. God's mercy heart begs us to reach out, shake hands and love those who kneel before us with hands extended.

Feeling altogether unworthy of their humble posture towards us (maybe it's we who should kneel before them?) we bring salt to add a measure of taste to their bland diets of corn, posho and bananas. We might as well have been bringing them flat screen TV's by the looks of joy on their faces.

One man struck with illness lies listless on a mat in the first hut we come to. Swallowing hard to choke back tears, I pray for him. Mercy translates my pleas to God for hope and healing. This work of being salt and light shreds my heart to pieces. But then we move on around the bend of the dirt road and are ambushed by 20 dancing eyes and 10 beautiful smiles. Giggles abound as they see their first mzungus (white people). High fives and hand shakes ignite a wave of excitement stirring another dozen from the bush. (Lord, is there an end to the need here? From where do all these children come?)

As our rounds come to a close, we make our way back to the car to begin the long drive "home." Steven, our driver, rolls his window to shoo away hoards of kids intent on running along side for as long as their skin-and-bones legs will carry them. This car feels heavier to me. My heart is loaded down, and the soap, salt and matches we just gave are an eye dropper. It's as though we sucked one drop of water from the ocean of poverty that haunts Uganda.

I wrestle with the question "does it even matter?" and then I'm reminded of a cup of water. To God, even a cup of water given in His name matters. It may not make a dent in this nation's Titanic poverty but today it brought a smile to handful of His precious kids. And tonight, frail hands will strike matches and light will pierce the darkness of Uganda.


13“You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled underfoot. You are the light of the world. A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.

You Are Most Welcome

Undoubtedly, it's the phrase we've heard more than any other here in Africa: "You are most welcome." Dan and I (the mzungus) are consistently greeted with wide smiles and warm handshakes. A triplet of shakes, first the traditional, then the arm wrestle grip then back to traditional, often punctuated with a hug. They look you straight in the eye, these dark skinned, gracious ones and we are convinced. We are MOST welcome here.

This week, the children at Hands of Love in Kiteezi welcomed us with such exuberance we wondered if the Queen of England herself had secretly stowed away in the back of our car. "Wel-o-come! Wel-o-come," their sing song voices rang out like the munchkins when Dorothy's spinning house landed square on the wicked witch.
 

Our Welcome at Hands of Love... unforgettable.

But our yellow brick road leads us to a place under the rainbow. A place where 52 pairs of hands of love minister daily to 586 kids whose Father is the King of the Universe. A place where Jesus is Lord, love is doled out in double portions and education is paramount. Where "brothers and sisters" sleep 40 to a room. Bunk atop bunk, they nestle in under a mosquito net cloud. Where joy freely flows like the clean water that is pumped by thirsty uniformed school children enjoying a drink at recess.

A well made possible by generous US partners like you!

When a child is welcomed here at the Hands of Love orphanage in Kiteezi, she experiences an overnight radical life transformation. One day she is sleeping in the bush, drinking swamp water, stealing food and picking scraps off the garbage heaps. The next she receives protection, a safe place to sleep, clean water, consistent meals and above all: love.

The difference this makes to one life is challenging to put into words. Chatting with several of the school's shining stars helped me to better understand the weight of this ministry.

At fifteen year of age, one 7th grader confesses the fear she experienced after both of her parents died of HIV/AIDS. After being kicked out of their stepfather's home, Anna* and her siblings slept on random porches and ate from trash cans.  "Before I came here, I didn't have anything. [The Hands of Love Staff] gave me a mattress, bed sheets and blankets to sleep on. I started living a better life. And now I'm the happiest person in the whole world, because I am loved and cared for. I have a home here at Hands of Love. I have the best education in the whole nation. When I learn, I can earn a living.  I will have a good future. And I have the best parents who care for me," she beams.

Sponsorship is the cornerstone in the successful transformation of these lives. "We orphans, if we get someone to [sponsor] us, we find new life," states Maria*.  She is sponsored by an American family whose support and love has revolutionized her self-image and future. "We become happy and proud of [our sponsors] because they truly are our parents in our life. Without them we cannot live." Maria endeavors to continue her studies and pursue a career as an international journalist so she can investigate the world.

"What is the most important thing you've received here?" I ask.  It's difficult for them to choose. My friend Deborah* bubbles with joy as we discuss the empowering gift of knowledge. "Of course, the best thing I got was education. In the future I want to become a doctor. I know I am a mighty women of God. I have hope for a future now."

And sitting amidst these future journalists, judges and doctors I am keenly aware of the universal truth. The desire for love, community and belonging is knit into each of us. We crave it like water, shelter and food. In this dusty Ugandan schoolyard where goats bleat and children play, the power of belonging dazzles me. I am filled to overflowing with the joy that lives here. We are MOST welcome into this community of love that continues to transform lives on a daily basis, mine included.

* Names of the children have been changed for their security and protection.

 

 

Raised from the Dust

Traveling the rocky roads in the Kayunga District of Uganda is dusty business. Expertly navigating the crater-like potholes, Steven our driver kicks up a red haze as we blaze the back roads towards the swamp where Pastor Elijah was born. "This brings new meaning to the scripture: 'He lifts the poor from the dust and the needy from the garbage dump,' " I say.

 "Oh my friend," Elijah replies, "just look behind us." I glance out the back window of our SUV and barely make out the figure of a shoeless woman and child walking, completely smothered by dirt. The corn stalks are dressed in red as if God took a shaker of paprika to the fields out my side window.

Arriving later at Kayonza C.U. Primary School where Elijah completed his elementary education, 1,056 bright, beautiful, dusty students gather at his feet. His words drip with inspiration. They listen wide eyed and barefooted as he shares the story of his first pair of shoes.

"All of you here are not wearing shoes. That is not your fault. You don't need to feel sorry for yourselves. I didn't have shoes until I was 15 years old. I got my first blanket when I was 13 years old. That means I went through this school without shoes. I don't remember putting on a full pair of shorts, but wore only rags to school. I'm not ashamed to talk about it. So, when you look at your friend putting on a torn shirt, please don't laugh. That friend may end up being the next president of Uganda."

I see the light dance in their eyes as this tall, articulate Ugandan pastor speaks life into their tattered, hungry lives. Their enemies plague them daily, not the least of which is abject poverty. Elijah remembers well the pain of poverty but chooses to focus on God who has raised him from it. He now pastors Kampala International Community Church, oversees 67 churches, heads up the Hands of Love Foundation which includes 3 schools and two orphanages, and hosts a weekly national radio program. His story of a redeemed life empowers Ugandans on a daily basis.

"Some of you have parents. Some may have no parents. Some in your families have died of HIV/AIDS." He continues to name them: sexual promiscuity, tribal fighting, cannibalism, child sacrifice. Rank after rank, the enemy's army assaults Uganda's culture threatening to annihilate its future.
 
"But let me tell you who will change all this.  It is not the President of Uganda. It is not the prime minister. Elijah Sebuchu will not change Uganda. Your teacher will not change this nation. Touch the hand of your neighbor and say, ' It is YOU who will change this nation.' "

 A frail looking girl seated just in front of Elijah studies the dust she sits upon as his words settle in. "I grew up from the dust. You can make it! It is a matter of time. You will get your shoes. You are just passing through this," he declares.

 He squats down and firmly takes a hold of her slight frame. Whisks her up into his strong arms. "Look at this child! God has the power to lift every one of you up." He holds her high above her friends as the other students erupt with joyful chuckles.

And I believe it, as I hear the laughter and see the hope rising in their chocolate brown eyes. I know he's right, this Hands of Love leader whose hands of love raise up another young life from the dust. They may pick through garbage tonight to find their dinner, but shoes or no shoes, there is a future president among them and they will change their nation.

"He lifts the poor from the dust and the needy from the garbage dump. He sets them among princes, placing them in seats of honor. For all the earth is the LORD's, and he has set the world in order."
1 Samuel 2:8

The Heart of a Servant

Pastor Elijah Sebuchu and our sponsored son, Samuel

The heart of a servant is beautiful. Though weary, stretched and torn in every direction on an hourly basis, with each tug it grows lovelier. Today Dan and I were exposed to servanthood in a way that brought me down low. It's this heart, this mindset that causes a Pastor who is a national figure, recognized by 95% of Uganda's population to notice that an eight year old is not drinking his soda because he doesn't have the strength to unscrew the cap. Who stops mid stream, interrupts his important thought to reach across the table and offer this simple gesture to the least of these. While his clueless sponsor mom sits nearby gulping down her own drink.

Elijah, Allen Hope and Me

 It's this heart that woos 298 of Kampala's finest to work tirelessly feeding, cleaning, teaching, transporting, inspiring, discipling children who need someone to love them. 298 servants, the lion's share of which work for NO compensation and walk many miles along dusty, potholed roads to make a child's day.

It's this heart that rises before dawn and does just about every job there is to do at an orphanage, including staying up into the wee hours of the night to greet two mzungus (white people) from South Carolina who lost their bags. And still, this servant's heart, it greets us full and oozes warmth and love while flashing the most captivating smile this side of the Nile.


Me and beautiful Solomy


It's this heart that brings these mzungus trays of bananas, coffee and fresh pineapple to ease the jet lag. That carefully navigates the potholes so the white people accustomed to their shiny SUVs and smooth highways don't get jostled. That offers cold bottles of water to quench our thirst and joyfully translates endless questions from sponsor mom to her son.


Stunningly selfless are the hearts behind Hands of Love.

I couldn't be more honored to serve with them and humbled to be served by them. Thank you Pastor Elijah, Pastor Richard, Allen Hope, Beautiful Solomy, Principal Sarah, Steven the gentle Driver, Martin the Great, Christina the Sweet and Pastor David. You are the lovliest picture of the Body of our Savior this Carolina girl has ever laid eyes on.

Taking the First Step

We embarked Saturday morning on our great adventure. We carried five suitcases laden with dozens of donations, hugged, kissed and shed tears with two children and one grandmother and have now flown 37 hours on three planes to arrive late last night at Entebbe National Airport in Kampala, Uganda. We are unsure of the computations God has calculated to bring us to this land of red dirt roads, but trust that the sum of these things will add up to good.

On the first of our three flights,  I finish reading the compelling story of Katie Davis' journey into the heart of Uganda. As a single, twenty something American woman, Katie began an international ministry that educates and cares for the sick, broken and destitute of this land. She has adopted 14 girls, fosters countless sick babies and elderly and cares for hundreds of orphans, while operating a non profit organization that offers sponsorships for education and basic needs. Her words ring in my ears as we ponder the work ahead of us.

"Courage is not about knowing the path. It is about taking the first step."

The worlds of Katie Davis and the Heart behind Hands of Love, Elijah Sebuchu, hold stunning parallels and yet, are haltingly disparate. A young single American woman. A 40-something Ugandan pastor with a wife and 5 children. Two hearts that received a calling they simply couldn't refuse. Two hearts that chose the difficult path. Two hearts who were fashioned by their Maker to serve His own suffering children in the "Pearl of Africa."  

So together, Dan and I take this first step of faith. Knowing very little about the path but knowing that the One who called us to this place will walk beside us every step of the way. Not so much courageous, but simply willing to take one step. And today we will choose to take the next. Thank you for joining us on a journey of discovering the heart behind the hands. The Hands of Love who built 8 mud huts that would one day become an international ministry for more than 1,400 AIDS orphans in Uganda.  We invite you to come along with us on this path and as we make new friends, see with our own eyes and hear with our own ears the love and passion that fuels this ministry.