the rat.

There’s a rat that lives in our ceiling. he’s been spotted twice. the first time he appeared he climbed in the bathroom window when katie was in the shower, and you have never heard such a scream. 

“he was the size of a cat! not including his tail!” 

we tried rat poison, and we tried traps. nothing worked. 

every night for the past 10 months, the light will go off in our room, and we fall asleep to the gentle scratching, scuttling, puddling around, midnight adventures of our friend. 
sometimes it’s even a source of comfort in a too quiet house. 

we stopped trying to kill Reepicheep and most of the time we even forget he is there, unless it’s one of those nights where he sounds like he’s on a trampoline. sometimes we forget to tell people they’re first night with us, that can freak em out really good.  

a few weeks back, one of our boys was in the latrine out back of their house. telling the story later, he stuttered out, “the rat is 2 feet long, and it’s not scared of people!!” apparently, the rat had been approaching while the boy was trying to take care of his business, the boy tried throwing things at the rat, and it still kept walking towards him...and the boy ended up having to run away. 

We have a hole in the ceiling of our bathroom, which we assume is the rat’s way in and out of our ceiling. That night, I was FREAKED out. I made Katie walk with me to the bathroom every time I had to go.

 Unfortunately, it was ALSO one of those nights where at about 7pm I had realized i was dehydrated and I started chugging water. So we made many trips. 

I closed the bathroom door and I kept the light on. I wrote a note on the door to all the other girls that if they had to use the bathroom to close the door when they were finished. I copied Sydney and every time I had to go to the bathroom I would flicker the lights like a disco party until I was sure there was nothing in there. 

I lay in bed that night (as Reepicheep was up in the ceiling jumping up and down and doing whatever he does every night) having vivid day dreams and panic attacks about the rat falling through the ceiling, crashing through the mosquito net, and landing on my face. 

I was paranoid. I kept grabbing Katie’s flashlight and shining it on all corners of our room anytime I heard a noise. I almost killed our cat when it jumped in bed with us. 

Katie commented that she had never seen me so scared at something so small, and that big stuff should scare me and this rat shouldn’t - and that I should go to sleep. 

I KNEW that rat was there from the beginning. I tried to kill it, and failed. 

At times, I was COMFORTED by the sounds that it made.

It really wasn’t hurting anything right?? 

It was unseen and accepted. 

Until I saw it - and then I FREAKED OUT. 

That’s how my sin is. It dwells in my heart. I can’t kill it, and sometimes it comforts me. I convince myself that it’s not hurting anything. 

Then it comes out, and you see it:

It’s your frustration at a mom who wants me to take her baby to the hospital.....wait....why am I FRUSTRATED at this woman? Because I want to get home and e-mail my friend back? 

Then you see it. You see your sin come out. It’s ugly. It’s big. And you freak out. 

HAS THAT THING BEEN LIVING WITH ME THIS WHOLE TIME?? 

I wish I could say that I wake up every day and I love walking into the school and being tackled in hugs from every student there, but sometimes I just wanna get where I'm going. Or I wish that I didn't hate sitting in the hospital for five hours with one of your kids who may have broken his arm. And I wish when that mom who was telling me how sick she is was telling me, that I didn't groan inside about how this was going to mess up what I had to get done for the day.

Our sin is ugly. It's even uglier when it really comes out. 

I say all this to say...

We can start with a holy intention that doesn't end in a holy action because we don't carry it out the way we need to. 

We can start with a "i'm just doing this because I have to do it" intention, that ends in doing the right thing but not with holiness. 

We need to constantly examine our intentions and our actions. Examine our hearts. Examine our reasons. Seek purity. Seek holiness. Seek righteousness. 

Don't grow comfortable with the rat in your ceiling. 
Don't grow comfortable from 'doing' just because you HAVE to. 

Created to LOVE LIKE HE LOVED. Not do like He did. There's a difference.

From

From hungry to more than satisfied .... 

From fearing mzungus to loving new friends... 

From sick to all-smiles...

From beautiful to............oh wait, still beautiful. 

From SWAG to SWAGGER ....

                        From malnourished to FULL of JOY, PEACE, and FOOD

                                           From fighting by himself, to fighting with God's strength...

                                                  From the tiniest of classrooms.........

To expanding into the other side of the duplex where the school currently runs from this THURSDAY....
To a room for women's ministry and the women's literacy program....
To more space so our teachers don't have to shout....
To more room for our kids to grow fatter...
And to all of you! Thanks for lifting us up and sending us forward!

Big Hairy Chest.

I was a baby once.  A baby that cried a lot.  I think the doctors told my mom I had colic. For those of you that don’t know the definition of colic…

Colic- your baby will cry a lot because its stomach hurts.  CRY. A LOT. NON-STOP. CRY.

You’re welcome.

I was my mother’s 3^rd child, so I figure she had the hang of the mom thing.  But, then I came along.  I don’t have a memory of this because my brain was small, but she told me the short version.

I would wake up and cry.  I may fall asleep again for a short time and then cry again.  She would try rocking me, putting me in a comfy chair, reading me a book, taking a walk, etc… I was like a crying machine.  Then my dad would walk in the door from work.  My mom would then silently hand me off.

My dad would lie down on the couch, put me on his chest and just sit there with me.  Slowly, my need was met.  My discomfort and pain was eased and I would fall asleep.  I don’t remember what it felt like to have constant stomach pains and cry out for some kind of comfort, and I don’t know why it was my dad’s big, hairy chest that did the job.

This is what I do remember.  I remember getting on the plane a week ago saying goodbye to 10 crazy, brown children that had somehow become my own family.  I remember crying in our living room because my best friend who had been through all of it with me would still be standing there tomorrow without me.  The past year of my life has changed the way I feel, the way I think, and even the way I speak.  God has created something new in me and something new within the walls of that beautiful mess of a house.

As I walk the new, old streets of my life in Tennessee I feel pain.  A deep longing in my heart.  I ask myself over and over what this longing is.  I know I miss the 10 faces that leave at 7:30am for school and return messy and sometimes mischievous at 5pm. I know I miss being dirty and tan.  I know I miss the infinite amount of questions pertaining to strange rashes or coughs or stomach aches at the primary school.  I know I miss my roommates that kept me laughing and were always proclaiming the Lord’s GOODNESS. 

Just like a bald headed baby I am crying for something.  It’s not people or places or daily routine that is going to ease the ache.  It’s my Father.  The Father that has been with me from before I began.  Before the world began in fact.  So with each new, old step I take in my life of being a daughter, a 23 year old, a friend, and a mommy of odd sorts I rest on His chest.  Because that is what I was created to long for, that’s the only place I find true peace and wisdom.  I pray that the deep ache and longing continues to grow.  Whether I am dirty and tan, yelling for order among a crowded room of kids or whether I am in a big church auditorium telling others about it- there is only one place I find comfort, wholeness, rest, and restoration.    

“Whom have I in heaven but you?  And earth has nothing I desire besides you.  My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.”

Psalm 73:25-26

my morning

Mallory rolls over at approximately 7:45 this morning. 

She lets out a groan and the cat jumps on her face. 

Too late for coffee but declared presentable, a grumpy Mallory gets ready to leave the house, but is intercepted by 10 hungry boys and a breakfast crisis. 

Crisis resolved, Mallory departs the house at 7:56, with a dreaded unwillingness to be inevitably stared at this morning. 

She gets about 200 feet past the house, and is approaching her first crowd of onlookers, who have stopped everything they are doing to stare at the mzungu that they see EVERY day (I hope you can’t taste my bitterness), and she sees a familiar face. 

With a feeble attempt to wave, she drops everything in her hands (Bible, water bottle, pencil, and money) into the mud, and 10 africans all stare and mumble “sorry.” 

Flustered, she collects all her muddy possessions and makes it another fifteen feet before she drops EVERYTHING a g a i n. The good news was this, this time the africans were a little louder in proclaiming how sorry they were, and the possessions lost a little mud in the transit. 

Mallory picks up her things, feeling like quite the idiot, not really sure why she was supposed to get out of bed this morning and proceeds on. Two minutes pass peacefully, before a group of africans are approaching. Looking up briefly, Mallory didn’t see the huge rock in front of her, and trips. 

Hands in the mud catching herself from totally falling on her face, tears in her eyes, curse words on her tongue, and her broken foot feeling like it would be better off if she went and kicked a concrete wall about 142 times; she bends over and scrambles to pick up her very muddy Bible, water bottle, pencil, and money. 

So when she reached the next corner, it’s needless to say that as 7 children ran up to her screaming MZUNGU MZUNGU; she was not in the mood to play happy, cheerful, Jesus-loving mzungu, and she stormed off....as best as she could with her newly acquired limp. 

She only slipped once more right in front of the church’s driveway, and she must have played it off really well, because right after that a van of men stopped and three of them proceeded to make marriage proposals. Mallory made an angry retort, in English and Luganda, she didn’t want there to be any confusion; and immediately regretted it as she turned around and a crowd of church goers (whom I will add, were also LATE to church)had stopped and looked to see who that sinning tongue was. 

She hurried in to church, trying not to hang her head, or show anybody how muddy hr Bible had become. 

Isn’t it funny how so many times we hate the thought of the journey? 

I’ve had a rough couple of days...I’ve been struggling with a broken foot, sick children, my own upset stomach and fever, and the departure of my best friend. I’ve just been in a funk. 

Last night, I declared FUNK NO LONGER and swore to myself that I was getting up for church in the morning. And after my treacherous journey, a seriously HUMBLED heart that sat down and prayed right when I got into church...my day did pick up tremendously, minus the guy standing next to me in church who kept hitting me in the face when he worshipped and the smell of fish from the market that started wafting in about halfway during the sermon and was making my already upset stomach do back flips. I got over myself, my distaste, my bitterness, my frustration, and I laid it all down before God. 

There are usually three feelings that I can have when I am dreading the journey, but I finally reach where I am going. 

1. Disappointment, the final destination is not worth it. 
2. That bitter taste in your mouth where you are really WISHING the journey hadn’t been SO hard, so that you could enjoy your destination better. 
3. Satisfaction, joy, peace, comfort, and accomplishment as you reach and you know that it was worth the walk. 

When God calls you to walk somewhere, you will not be disappointed. That means option #1 only is applicable when you really want a home-grilled burger topped with mom’s homemade tex mex sauce and real CHEDDAR cheese, and you settle to go to Java’s in Kampala, where you’re not sure if they know what well-done means and you know that the cheese is going to disappoint you. 

Option #2 is the result of usually when you’ve packed too much. The journey has been too hard, because you’ve been carrying all your junk. For me, it’s this entitlement that God has been working with me on. I do not deserve to walk perfectly. I do not deserve not to have people stop everything they are doing to stare at me. I do not deserve to walk by and have nobody yell at me. I do not deserve to have a day uninterrupted, because I have been working so hard serving God’s children this week. HA! I’m judging myself by works and not faith. And when I don’t leave those things behind before I start walking, they will get heavier, and heavier, and heavier, and heavier....to the point where when you reach you are sweating too hard, too out of breath, too tired, too annoyed and perturbed to finally enjoy where you have reached and the whole time you are thinking WHY did I bring all this JUNK? 

Option #3 is what we receive when we walk after surrendering all our junk, “For none of us lives to himself, and no one dies to himself. If we live, we live for the Lord; and if we die, we die for the Lord.” Romans 14:7-8. If I’m walking, it’s for the Lord and not for myself. That makes it easier when people yell at you, stare at you, get in your way, laugh at you when you stumble, and are talking behind your back about you to their friends. 

We KNOW and BELIEVE that we are not walking for ourselves, not for our satisfaction, not for our glory. We know and believe that we will not be walking forever, because we have a HOME and a destination with the Lord. 

And we know that when we are walking and we grow heavy, we have either picked up something or someone that we are not supposed to be carrying with us; or we didn’t stop at Sonic and get a Diet Coke and rest when we were supposed to.