Monday, December 26, 2011



Reentry has been more difficult than I anticipated.
We arrived home from Uganda over three weeks ago, and I still haven’t quite regained my equilibrium. 
It’s hard to focus.   I feel conflicted. 
I am keenly aware that there are (here in Raleigh) people, ministries, causes, and needs that require me—my attention, my concern, my interest, my assistance.  
And I begrudge none of them. 
As a matter of fact, I fully and joyfully embrace them.
I can’t seem, however, to get the snapshots of the children of Uganda out of my mind. 

(they had spent hours being held and brushing my hair)
They have become indelibly imprinted upon my heart. 
The children at Bukaleba appear, without warning, leaving me shaken and longing. 
Fierce maternal instincts have, once again, been awakened, stirred, and intensified,
by the memories of children yearning,


to be held, or fed, or comforted, or listened to, or empathized with, or advocated for.

I want to call them by name, and affirm to them
that they matter. 
I want them to know that they are loved by their Creator,
and not forgotten by His servants. 
I want to kiss their boo-boos and dry their tears.   
I want to celebrate their victories, and mitigate their losses. 
I want to multiply their joy, and eliminate their fear.  I want to play peek-a-boo with them, and sing silly songs with them, and hear them belly laugh with the kind of exuberance that
transcends their circumstances.
I want them to know that there is a Savior Who longs to adopt them into His family.  I want them to grow up, secure in the knowledge that they can never truly be alone with God as their Father.  I want them to anticipate, and expect, a future filled with purpose and significance. 
I dream of the day when they are finally able to see that God
 did, indeed, redeem what He allowed,
that He was faithful all along.

At the end of the day, though, I am here, and they are there. 

Oceans separate us.  
Logistics separate us.
Circumstances separate us. 

The all-prevailing, sovereign will of God separates us—for now.
So, for now, I will intercede.  I will remember.  I will wait for God to orchestrate my return.  And until He does, I will be faithful.
 I will be His woman here:  Present, joyful, and submitted.  I will follow God’s promptings, I will listen for His voice, and I will seize the opportunities He orchestrates, to be His hands and feet, whether I am here, or in Uganda, or some other far-flung place.
I will allow the people and children of Uganda to inhabit a heart that, surprisingly, never runs out of room.  They will join the countless others, already residing there, whom God has allowed me the privilege of meeting, and knowing, and loving along the way.
My consistent, faithful God holds me fast,
He propels me gently,
and He continues to add to my “one-size-fits-all” heart.