best part of my week

“I need a house. My 3 children and I are staying at our friend’s house but it’s not good, and I need the Lord to provide money for me to get a house.” -K

“I need my rent money, I’m scared my family’s going to evicted.” -B

“I need bedsheets and a mattress. Right now, me and my 2 daughters are sleeping on the dirt floor of our hut.” - J

A pause as the rest of us finish our prayer requests...

“You know, you all are beautiful women.” - Auntie Katie. 

They laugh...

“Glory be to God! We all have our problems but at least we’re PRETTY!” -B 

The best part of my week is not holding that precious baby with a sniffle

 or filling the 5 empty bellies that have come to school hungry and without food

or walking 7 special girls home just so they feel special

or seeing 60 smiles every day.  

It’s tuesdays

and thursdays

and saturdays

when I get to teach the mom that is fighting to get her baby medicine for that sniffle

and I get to laugh with 8 moms who refuse to let their circumstances define them

and I get to hear them learn to speak english as we have moved past ‘how are you’ and now say ‘what’s up’ 

and we have thirty minute, way off topic conversations about surrogate mothers and artificial insemination

and I get to watch them pick up things, whether it’s reading english or reading music, faster than you can imagine and then proclaim that it’s because the Lord is with them 

and I get to watch them have FUN, something that is unknown to most adults here, as they learn to play the drums under the instruction of crazy Auntie Katie. 

and I get to watch them earn their children’s school fees and take responsibility as they roll paper beads 

and I got to watch this bright light of hope flash in their eyes 

and it grew but it would flicker and fade

and now it remains.

and I stand amazed, in admiration, in reverence

remember your people

I remember the first time I heard the song “Your grace in enough” in church here in Uganda. I remember the utter beauty of the hands that rose into the air, the voices crying out, and the adrenaline that pumped through the church as they sang and cried out “REMEMBER YOUR PEOPLE.” 

I remember watching the church come A L I V E as they sang that line, and thinking how beautiful it was to my eyes and my heart to see these people who have every reason to call themselves forgotten, cry out that they are remembered. 

We sang that song in church this morning, and as my favorite line came up I found my arms raised, my heart pounding, and myself singing at the top of my lungs “REMEMBER YOUR PEOPLE.....” and I was crying out to God praising Him for remembering me. 

See, I’ve been in Uganda almost a year now. 

Now as my Ugandan friends come over to the house for the first time, and find me doing laundry in a basin or cooking matooke....they will proudly proclaim “oli muganda.” You are Ugandan now. 

Or as the boda men are conversing in Luganda trying to cheat me, I can interrupt in Luganda and get the price that’s fair...and they will consent and as I get on the boda I will hear them mutter “ali muganda.” She is Ugandan.

Or as I’m being lazy and reallllyyyyy don’t want to start a charcoal stove and I’ll try to persuade one of the boys that I don’t know and make them do it, they will look at me and laugh “oli muganda auntie mallory.” You are Ugandan now. 

I could be in Uganda for another 20 years and I would never be Ugandan. I can hold my own doing laundry, cooking, and in conversation, but I never would experience everything that a Ugandan has experienced. I would never have to face the battles that they face from birth. However, I do currently live an African life, but I do not wear African printed clothes, I’m not as cool as Angela Jackson. 

I believe that we best minister to people when it’s something that we have struggled with before and God has turned into His glory in our lives. You can really understand what the person is going through, and give testimony that God delivered you from it and He can deliver them as well. 

Since I have become a believer, I have never felt forgotten. I’ve always seen God’s grace lavished out on me. When I came to Africa, I felt young, full of purpose, annointed, passionate, and loved. Never ever would I believe that I ever would feel forgotten. Somewhere along the road, that’s probably another blog, I became overwhelmed by the size of the poverty, the hunger, the death, and the problems and I couldn’t see God moving in it anymore. I started asking God, “Where are you?” I started asking, “When are you going to do something about this?” 

My eyes became small. I made God small. I began to feel forgotten. I know God works all things for His glory and for my good. This morning I could raise my hands in church with my brothers and sisters and praise God that I am remembered. It’s been a hard road, a lonely road, but as I’ve prayed for the Lord to open my eyes to His power, His might, His caring heart for His children - He’s opened my heart and now I rest on the truth that I am not forgotten. 

BUT I started thinking about how I measure grace. In America, it’s easy to only measure God’s grace by the physical, by what He has put in front of us - the people, the place you are, the house you are in, the car that He just provided for, or the new job and the direction that you’ve been asking for. It’s something that we can all easily slip into, and of course, those things are all defined as grace. 

What makes these people that I love and cherish who have ever worldly reason to believe that they are forgotten know that they are remembered? 

“that God has blessed us in Christ with every spiritual blessing in the heavens” 

“that he chose us to be holy and blameless in His sight” 

“that He predestined them to be adopted through Jesus Christ for Himself, according to His favor and His will” 

“that we have redemption in Him” 

“that we have forgiveness” 

“ that he lavishes wisdom and understanding on us” 

“that we have received an inheritance from Him”

“that we can PRAISE Him” 

-Ephesians 1

Hiding Place.

I have never been a fan of the game "hide and seek." 

1.  People usually play it in the dark, and I don't like people jumping out at me.

2.  I was overweight as a kid... so I couldn't run fast and was always caught.

3. I was never fond of looking for the "hiders" because (as I said before) I had trouble catching them once the chase ensued.

For too long I have made myself believe that God is hiding from me.  Like I am in this cosmic battle of "na-na-na-na-boo-boo-you-can't-catch-me."  So like a chubby girl jogging out- of- breath to the home base I have been seeking.  To be honest there were days where I just needed to know He was even REAL.  There were days that I couldn't remember if He loved me or not.  Then there were days when I doubted His call on my life to Africa.  And then I wondered if He would stick with me on this call to Africa. 

God isn't hiding from us.  He is running to us.  He is inviting me to stop in my tracks, stop running, stop worrying, stop doubting, stop trying to figure it out- and just be with Him.  The only thing that keeps us from fully being in God's presence is ourselves.  Maybe we don't see it until we fall on our face. Sometimes we don't see our ugly sin until it gives birth to death in our lives.  Praise God for that pain and drought that hits us between the eyes once we have grown weary of hiding.  Praise God for the utter dependence on His Spirit when we realize we can't breathe without Him.  Praise God that He designed us to only worship Him.

"When I kept silent, my bones became brittle from my groaning all day long.  For day and night Your hand was heavy on me; my strength was drained as in the summer's heat.  THEN I acknowledged my sin to You and did not conceal my iniquity.  I said 'I will confess my transgressions to the LORD,' and You took away the guilt of my sin.  Therefore let everyone who is faithful pray to You at a time that You may be found.  When great floodwaters come, they will not reach him.  You are my hiding place; You protect me from trouble. You surround me with joyful shouts of deliverance." - Psalm 32:3-7

Doing life is hard.  Having 10 loud, crazy kids at home is hard.  Ministry can suck you dry.  Being a missionary has a way of bringing out the best and the worst in you.  We have to keep seeking God, not with expectation of Him hiding from us, but with the truth that He is always there.  He is beside us, behind us, and always in front of us.  When we remember the promises He has made, this whole seeking thing becomes a way of life. Everyday life, forever. 

When we believe and TRUST that He is there, our mindset changes. Our mind is renewed (Romans 12:2) and we can see and know His pleasing, good, and perfect will - which is to never leave us, never hide from us, and always always ALWAYS love us. I can't believe this on my own. I have to ask God everyday to help me believe. Every weak moment, every dry moment, every one of my worst moments where my fear and the devil's lies collide. I have to ask God to help me believe, and He is always faithful.  He is faithful in the falling of His Holy Spirit, in His soft whisper of peace, and in the living pages of His word.

He is our Hiding Place.