Today was a full day that began by helping Naomi and Quinn and David off for
the day. Naomi for a full day of 1st grade classes and David and Quinn to
get robots settled for parents day at Christ School. Fridays are the days
Quinn accompanies David to work – his very favorite day of the week. Those
two grow more attached every day!!

Once they had left, after the usual morning flurry of getting email (on our
very limited internet hours), getting breakfast, putting on uniforms,
packing lunches, and making sure homework is completed; I settled in to
finish my usual morning routines, putting away the breakfast mess, making
the bed, and being sure to have my skirt on before our workers arrived for
the day at 8:30.

An hour later I was off to a meeting for Grace Orphan School, a primary
school started by a local pentecostal man who felt called of God to follow
the mandate in James about caring for widows and orphans. It’s a blessing
to see this indigenous project and to see the love and care that are going
into it. But it’s in a sad state. As usual, it’s hoped that the mazungu
(me) will become interested, hence bringing – - – money. It’s nice to be
appreciated for who I am. I did enjoy hearing the history of the school,
getting to meet all the teachers/board members and chairpeople (they like
bureaucracy here) and most of all getting to pray with them about the future
of the school. We prayed for God to clearly direct the way ahead, so that
there could be no doubt in any ones mind how things are supposed to go.
It’s a tall order, but He’s very able.

Next, a walk back up the road through the village and to our home where
David and Quinn met me and we grabbed some lunch and hit the road again for
Christ School. We spent all afternoon sitting through some wonderful
dramas, poems, choir performances, and speeches; it was a big day in the
Christ School calendar – Parents Day! Many parents were there to see their
children strut their stuff.

We arrived home to Daniel, guarding the home front while Assimwe cooked us
local food for dinner ( a great survival idea I had; I love getting dinner
cooked, acculturating and supporting the local economy all at once). Kids
poured into the yard following us and congregated on the back porch looking
in through our main window as the rains started to fall. It really poured.
We are coming into the rainy season here and it’s getting heavier each day.

I spent several hours feeling completely pulled between the needs of my kids
for my attention after a full day away from me, the desire of Asiimwe to
have some fellowship and get to know me better, the desire of the horde of
children to have Bible study or play some games, and the many visitors who
just kept coming. I prayed and tried to take it one moment at a time.

By about 6:30 we sent everyone off and closed up all the doors, hoping to
have a visitor free dinner (maybe they would think we were away??), the food
was yum. No such luck with the visitors though, we had three more through
dinner, all needing money for small but important things. David fielded the
door.

All during dinner I couldn’t stop thinking about the little boy from next
door. I had done my usual goodbye routine with the kids which involves
using the Lubwisi word for run while chasing them out of the yard. They
love it. But when I asked little Keboy to “oligite”, he just turned a worn
face to me. His big brother said he had not eaten yet that day and was
hungry and tired. This little guy is about 18 months.

Dark has really fallen and we gather the significant remains of our meal,
quite a portion really. Quinn grabs a flashlight and precedes me out the
door and towards the gate, sloshing through mud and standing water as we go.
Just outside our gate we see the cooking fires of the Akolimpe families, but
keep walking to reach the farthest house from ours, Keboy’s house. I am
concerned that Katusabe (his mom) has shifted somewhere else as there is no
fire in her area of the compound. Yet I hear the sounds of low crying and
Quinn and I head down the small footpath to their dark buildings. We are
almost upon them before I am sure they are really there. But they are, at
least the children, only Mugeni, the oldest and the one usually in charge,
is not here. The rest of the six children are huddled inside their small
cooking building in pitch blackness, though as I enter I can see the glow of
some low-burning coals in the darkness. Yonah is holding a crying Keboy,
several of the other children are just lying quietly in the darkness. The
floor of the cooking house is littered with garbage and there is the
distinct presence of quiet and unassuming misery.

Using my broken Lubwisi, I hand over my saucepans full of food; sweet
potatos steamed in banana leaves, rice, cabbage, and g-nut (peanut) sauce.
Children gather around, there is a stirring of interest, a small show of
enthusiasm. I rub heads, and stroke skin, wishing I could do more. They
say their mother is not there.

Then back towards the gate with Quinn’s flashlight showing the way, more
Babwisi children have gathered around to enjoy the bright light and marvel
at the small machine which makes it. We head back to “heaven”, to our home,
full of light, food, and love. Why are we so blessed? How can we stand to
be so blessed? How can we justify what we do for ourselves given what
others do without? What a constant struggle here, a struggle beyond words.
To see the depths of the brokenness of this world, and strive to live in the
paradox that is our life beside theirs. Strive to care for each other the
way He tells us to, while realizing that what we have is not even to be
imagined by the people here. Strive to understand what He has us here for
and how we can best show love and ease hurt.

Can’t you see how unable we are??? Good thing Jesus is Always Enough.