I just read an interesting brief excerpt in Oprah magazine (yes, Neil S, Oprah!) titled, “why we don’t care about Darfur”. The premise of the article is that recent studies have shown that people respond better to the needs of a single individual than multiple individuals. That the needs of a single person often compel us while the needs of a large group overwhelm us.
The article calls it Psychic Numbing, and perhaps that’s what I feel as day after day the same seriously malnutrived two year old crosses my yard, his shy smile appearing furtively above his enlarged belly – a sign of protein deficiency and a chronically enlarged spleen, perhaps. Though I love and care about him, I see so many children in similar shape that it becomes difficult to feel that I can make a difference, that the right way to help is to feed this child. Though I am compelled by the one, the many numb me into fearing to make a difference for him.
But over time, what I’m discovering, is that though I can do some things for many children (raise support for our school, develop programs that change their lives, invest into the staff who will have those important one-on-one relationships) some important things can only be done, by me, for a few.
And so it’s okay if I give an egg to just one little boy, calling to him furtively from behind the corner of the house and sitting beside him while he carefully eats each crumb of yolk and white before brushing off his mouth and giving me that special, secret smile, heading back to the bigger group. They are also malnourished, but for me, for today, I can help just one. Not only by handing him food but by accompanying it with the attention that says “I value you, you are worth spending time on.”
Perhaps that is why we have developed the Christ School Scholarship fund to reflect a pairing between a specific child and their sponsor. Orphans, just like that little boy, are at high risk of low academic performance, poor behavior, and ongoing social issues. That’s because so little in their lives has told them that they really matter. We hope the names, pictures, letters and prayers by their sponsors will convey that they are known, loved and valued. And that in turn, these orphans will respond with joy to the Creator who first knew and loved them.
So when you hear your next statistic about the five million African children who die each year from malaria, about the hundreds of thousands of people currently displaced by flooding in parts of Uganda, and you feel that psychic numbing kick in; remember that for just one child living in a state of slow despair and devastation, you could be enough.
For more information about the Scholarship fund and information on individual orphans, go to www.christschoolbundibugyo.org.
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As I shift shores, slide from one continent to the next, exchange depths of poverty for heights of abundance, and relearn landscapes of gestures, words, and civilities . . . . I gain new perspective on identity.
I am talking, of course, about transition from Bundibugyo, Uganda to all things U.S.A. A contrast beyond words, past thought or understanding, illustrating once again “how great is our God.” To think that God holds both of these worlds not only in His hands but in His heart, always in His mind along with the boggling other parts of the world, inspires total awe. For me, I can barely hold in my intellectual mind (and not at all in my emotional mind) that both worlds exist in parallel time. While I sit in a bookstore and browse through a plethora of books on every possible topic, time, place, culture, sipping a sweet, hot drink it is unimaginable and yet true that at this very moment my Ugandan neighbors are once again crying themselves to sleep in hunger, or sadness of abandonment or the emptiness of dreams not even known to be dreamt.
Forgive my drama, but children really are dying. . . . . .
As for me, I am immersed in my own identity shift. While I try to remember best what needs to be told so that the Babwisi will be known well . . . . I also seek to remember who I am in this theme park we call America. Haircuts, dental appointments, shopping trips, new makeup all help me become the person I am here. But along with each of these, a healthy helping of guilt . . . You can’t forget what your money buys in a place so far away yet close to your heart. Money for a haircut, enough to save lives. . . . . I revel in the spa day paid for by a good friend’s husband, letting the skilled touch of my masseur remind me of the sheer physicality of love. Wondering what amazement any Mabwise would express at the idea of paying for this experience . . . of HAVING this experience; I contemplate the presence of touch in their own lives. I think about gestures I have trouble leaving behind in Uganda . . . I still cup, two-handed, many of the hands that I shake here, trying to convey my thankfulness through the physical expressions that I know Africans so well for.

So here I am, skin softer from many hot showers, each one pouring over me again in profound reminder of how very, very much I have been given. It’s so easy to smell nice here, and I remember how Jesus allowed a bottle of perfume to be emptied over his feet, allowing God to be honored and glorified through abundance. I sleep in the most comfortable of beds and remember old widow friends who sleep on thin banana leaf mats placed on dirt floors, remember the beauty of their toothless smiles, remember the bend of their backs still used daily for carrying sand or wood or rice . . . . .

True beauty is not hard to find, but you may have to go to Africa.

Meanwhile, I hope that I can hold loosely these exquisite pleasures of a simple American life, and that through my eyes you can catch a glimpse of what all the clothes, lipstick and new hairstyles don’t help to expose . . . A glimpse of my heart, raw in some hint of the way Jesus’ was, with a wanting to “get” your lives even as I “get” theirs and to hear what is unspoken in every conversation both here and there, how much each heart longs to know His.
At some level, the identity shifts I make here in America are very like the identity shifts I have made there; the outside changes, varies, camouflages to become like what surrounds me while inside I remain the same, strong only in my weakness, confident only in the God who designed me for everything He asks me to do, beautiful in the ways I am able to reflect Him. The not-much that I am is enough only because He was and is and will always be, enough.

David and Yvette, Rachel and Nehemiah planned an over-abundant-in-all-the-right-ways weekend for us. For all of you who receive the Children Praying for Children newsletter designed for kids who pray for Naomi and Quinn, Yvette is the powerhouse behind that. She also does lots of other advocacy for us and more importantly for the children of her native Africa that she loves so much. She trusts Him with them all but common sense tells her that the rest of us have to get on board too!
Her family is every bit as lovely as she is and it was wonderful to get to know them all over again. Naomi is planning to take Rachel back to Africa with her! Thank you friends for an incredible weekend and lots of new connections in heart, mind and friendships.

Naomi and Quinn going crazy in rural Tenessee . . . .it’s kid heaven! And this is without the amazing sight of Naomi on a ten foot tall Tenessee walking horse (I’m a bad mother who forgot her camera.)

We had a lovely almost-week down in North Carolina golf-country with Bill and Mim, David’s parents. As usual, Mim took amazing care of us all and re-interested N and Q in all kinds of handwork. Living on a golf course means driving golf carts which was about the highlight of Quinn’s week. We swam and shopped a bit and David watched his hearts content of the U.S. Open. It was a great week.

We’re spending the week in NC with David’s parents. We took a trip to their lovely community wooden castle playground, appropriately named Camelot. It was quite a return to the wonders of the American playground. Naomi and Quinn had a blast for several hours. Sliding down the curly slide over, and over, and over was top on their list but they also loved all the climbing, the swings and wonder of all wonders, the water fountain . . . . Which they explored with the delight of a one year old.

Saturday night we celebrated my Dad’s birthdy and had a great time of reunion (including food, of course) with my family, including my brother and his wife and son. We missed Andrew (my other brother) and his family very much!
Here is my brother, James with my guys and cousin Michael, playing legos.
And below, cousin Michael helps Grampa blow out his birthday candles.

Here are some “just before we left” photos. I couldn’t resist the butcher shop picture and the great name chosen for the shop, so incongruous with the surroundings.
Other pictures include Quinn having conversations with a variety of adults about subjects including Pokemon (with Donovan), who-knows (with Scotticus), and HIV/AIDS (with Pamela). That kid has a lot going on in his head.
Naomi and David are enjoying the beautiful pool in Jinja at our retreat.

Thursday they took ten vials of my blood, I got three shots, a chest x-ray and several mini-lectures from my doctor on why Africa is not a good place for everyone to live. Yea, I know.
The untold hardships of missionary life include holding my crying kids down for more shots they wouldn’t need if we didn’t live in a part of the world with icky diseases everywhere. It’s these small things that sometimes get to me . . . .
Today I got back the first of my results from blood work indicating that my thyroid is losing function, something I’ve been suspecting from my symptoms and health history. Feels good in that it may be an explanation for my tiredness and nausea – meaning that I could go back to Uganda feeling a lot better and with a lot more energy for daily life which would be amazing. Feels bad in that I have to wait on more testing and doctors to have any idea for what this actually means.
I have TobyMac’s “Made to love” on permanent repeat in my earphones right now. I love this song:
“I was made to love you I was made to find you I was made just for you Made to adore you I was made to love And be loved By you.
You were here before me You were waiting for me And you said you’d keep me Never would you leave me. I was made to love And be loved By you Daddy I’m on my way . . . .
Anything I would give up for you Everything I’d give it all away”
I’m made to love Him and be loved by Him – how much more central can you get than that? How strongly can I say that my faith is NOT about religion. It’s about a relationship with an amazing God who was here before me, who’s watching over me, and who made me both to love and be loved by Him. And that relationship, as in some small way symbolized by any man worth eloping over, is worth anything and everything given up, given away . . . . . He made me to adore Him and as He loves me faithfully, tenderly, patiently, uniquely . . . I fall more and more in love with Him.
Trust can be hard. I find I constantly reevaluate my life and my time, making new plans and contingencies. Because though I trust Him, I feel safer when I work out all the details for myself. Right now it’s about getting back to Ugandan where our “real” lives are. Questions about schooling, money, and our ministry fill my head when I think about prolonging our time in America for health reasons. As much as I gave up to be in Uganda, it’s the place I love and want to be these days . . . . . But I was made to love and be loved by Him – and all this is in his plan. I’m getting on board with the not-knowing, the uncertainty, and rejoicing in the adoring of Him . .. . . And in knowing that He truly calls me beloved.
And if we have to be away from our lives in Uganda for longer than we hoped this is the place to do it!! We’re so thrilled to be back in relationships with friends and family.