This may not be classy....but you gotta hear it

I usually don’t like to blog about money. Part of me doesn’t feel like it’s classy, and the other part doesn’t want people to think I’m asking for it. I know we’re a non-profit and that right now we make a living asking for support, but I don’t believe that I’ve ever asked a person for support. I ask God, the living God, who moves in hearts and minds and whispers to His children to give to His purpose. 

I ask God for churches and people to speak to, not because I want to share about what we are doing and be blessed by them; but because I believe that God is doing something so beautiful, full of glory, impossible, and kingdom bringing - right here in Uganda - that it will bless people to hear what the Living God has done. 

I say all of this to say, money has been tight lately. Our family stops for one. If God says stop, we stop. If God says give, we give. God rarely calls us to do what is within our bank account to do - but He always provides. 

I can’t challenge God when money is tight  and He says bring someone home, whether that’s a street kid who needs to break an addiction or someone who needs somewhere to crash for a few days, even on days where I feel like counting out every grain of rice we are about to cook.  

We’ve had a lot of medical situations the past couple of weeks within the school and slum, and from a couple street kids popping in for dinner and a few nights as they try to recover from illness and injury. 

The medical budget had dwindled down to nothing, when one of our very own kids fell this weekend and broke and dislocated his ankle, needing a 4 day hospital stay and expensive surgery. We didn’t find out how expensive until Monday, the day of the surgery. The doctor told us the price of the surgery and that 50% had to be paid up front and 50% directly after surgery. The number made our eyebrows shoot up, and we prayed and asked the doctor if he would do a payment plan for us. He said yes. The nurse later told us that this doctor had only ever done this once before. We had until July 20th to pay off the surgery. 

That night we had an e-mail from a sweet friend back home who was going to ask her family to help pay for the surgery. We told her the amount that we needed and went to bed thankful for her and her family. Tuesday when we tried to get him discharged, we found out there was another bill. It was bigger than the first one! This one was for the hospital stay, nurse care, meals, injections, etc...and he couldn’t leave until we paid this bill in full! 

We prayed and then we bent over backwards trying to pull this money from places so that the bill didn’t continue to increase. We were able to get him discharged, and went home that night. 

There can’t be any bitterness there. There can’t be any “God, you called us to help those other children and we CHOSE to help them and now the one that we NEED to help we can’t!” He asks for trust. He asks for us to see the way that He sees them. He doesn’t want us to look at our present circumstances and consider them a burden or a horrible place to be, but to consider them GRACE! He gives grace! 

God loves all of those children, and He would not say do something that He wasn’t going to provide for. This morning the leaders sat down for a meeting and we prayed that we would continue to trust God and we committed the surgery bill and the hospital bill to God. 

This afternoon, waiting in our bank account was the money from our friend and her family that we needed to cover the surgery AS WELL AS the exact amount that we bent over backwards scrounging up to pay the hospital bill from an online donor. 

I screamed BOOYAH for Jesus and then as I began to thank Him, I got a text from Katie that she’s going to be late for dinner because she’s taking a little girl to the hospital...that’s not a joke. 

There are countless stories within our ministry like this one; that have shaped, refined, and sharpened my faith. I pray it does the same to yours today. 

He's gone

There were a lot of different emotions last week when he left our house, still injured, and going back to the streets led by an addiction. 

Nobody was surprised, but all of us wish he could see himself the way that we see him. 

Bwanika jumped at the opportunity to give him his bed while he stayed with us, and Bwanika slept on the floor. 

Timothy and Richard took turns checking on him in the middle of the night so that the uncles 

and aunts wouldn’t have to get up and do it themselves. 

He and Morris sat outside and laughed and laughed about the memories they had together. 

Fred quickly lent him some of Fred’s own clothes to wear. 

Our boys showered love on him. They were a living, walking, talking, breathing, laughing testimony of what God has done. 

But, he still left. 

We are reminded once again that the job of our family is not to save people. 

This ministry doesn’t exist to get as many boys off the street as possible, put them in a home, and see them through to success. 

Our job is to love. And love we did. 

He left our home even though he could have had an open door to stay, to go to school, to break his addictions, and become part of our family. 

Did we fail? No. 

Did we love? Yes. 

It’s that simple. 

We are praising Him that His ways aren’t our ways. That He has a plan for him and we are thankful and honored to be a part of it! 

drugs, if's, and gifts

There are two men that live in our house that never get enough appreciation, honor, or recognition. Their names are Mark and David and they are the two fearless uncles who continuously pour out into our boys. And if you asked me when Doors really started I wouldn’t tell you in January of 2012 or the time that God first broke our hearts for one of our boys; but it would be the day that we met these two men. 

We were working on the streets and Katie had set up a medical table, and someone brought in a little boy who looked about 6 or 7 at the time. He was shaking horribly, raging with fever, unresponsive, and was violently ill. We thought he had malaria. Nothing we did seemed to help, until one of the other street boys who is now one of our kids, came up to us and told us that this sick boy had been taking too many drugs. 

Opium, Marijuana, and huffing petrol. Katie and I were running around, searching for water, medicine, blankets; and we barely took the time to introduce ourselves to the two men who joined in our fight to save this little boy’s life. 

That was the first time we saw him when he overdosed. A crisis that led to four brothers and sisters becoming best friends. The four of us held this little boy, prayed over him, administered lots of love and water over the next few months as the same little boy overdosed two more times and found himself in our arms. 

Almost two years later, Mark found him on the streets yesterday. At this point this may not surprise you, but he was high, ill with fever, and having a huge wound on his foot where he was run over by a taxi and a boda boda. He brought him home.  He’s slept almost 16 hours at this point, and yes we keep checking to make sure that he’s still breathing. 

This kid’s a runner. He always has been. Every time he overdosed we would put him in a house with people to continue to care for him throughout the night, and the next morning he would be gone. I woke up this morning wondering what God was going to do. I know that God has a huge plan and purpose and love for this stubborn child, because it is truly only by His grace that he is still alive. 

I found myself asking God, “Is this it? Is this the time that the change is really going to happen? That he finally settles into a home and lets you wreck his addictions and heal his trauma and cover him in love?” 

I don’t feel like God told me a yes or a no. What He did tell me was that, this is not a nail biter. This is not a question of whether or not God was going to show up, because He already has. This was not a chance to sit around praying nervously waiting to see if it really happens this time. This is a gift. That’s what this time is. Having this little boy sleep in our home, eat our food, drink our water, and be loved by us is a gift that God is giving us. 

Last week I heard three children say, “IF I live to be a grown up...” and it was not a mistake in their English. Last week a friend of ours lost his daughter to a rare strand of malaria. She was eleven. Three days after that I held a little girl in my arms who was shaking uncontrollably from malaria and with her 102 fever wanted to sit in the sun to get warm. 

There are days when things just don’t make sense in my heart and in the way I see them. I’ve been continually asking God through every tough time and situation to show me the love He has for the child that is weeping in my arms because she can’t stop shaking, and for the little boy who has layers of addiction and scars that he needs to be rescued from. 

And I definitely don’t know all the answers. What I do know is this, that each one of those children is a gift to Him, and therefore they are a gift to me. They are not another mouth to feed when we already don't have sponsorships filled, and they are not a burden of responsibility that I have to care. They are gifts singing worship songs as they mop the house, laughing as they play football in the yard, serving the family at dinner time, and even when their stubborn sides come out. They are gifts, and that's all I need to see. 

I Have Questions.

"I know that you can do anything, and no one can stop you.  You asked, 'Who is this that questions my wisdom with such ignorance?' It is I-and I was talking about things I knew nothing about, things far too wonderful for me.  You said, 'Listen and I will speak! I have some questions for you, and you must answer them.' I had only heard about you before, but now I have seen you with my own eyes. I take back everything I said, and I sit in dust and ashes to show my repentance." -Job 42:1-6

The day I graduated college my best friend and roommate gave me a card with this verse inside.  I had never read the book of Job before (I heard it was pretty depressing, and I wasn't into that stuff) and I had no idea at the time that this chapter would be one I would read over and over for the next two years. 

Last week was one of those weeks that changed my life forever.  I got to jump on board with a medical team from the states and work a few free clinics.  I was given about 5 minutes of instruction and an oral list of around 50 available medications before I jumped in head first into a sea of sick people.  I saw over a hundred moms, children, and babies suffering from some typical and not-so-typical health issues. At the end of a busy day I was done seeing patients and I was told to attend the "Spiritual Care Station." This is the most important part of any free clinic, because nothing is worse than a sick spirit.  So, I sat down, ready to get my prayer on with the next patient in line. Then She walks up to me.

She is beautiful.  Her children are beautiful.  Not a single spot or blemish.  

However, there is something unseen.  She is HIV positive. She begins to tremble as my hands meet her own.  All that's left to do now is pray.  Tears well up within and we ask God to please hold her, wrap her in Your love,  protect her children, HEAL her Jesus.  HEAL her Jesus.  Then we were finished.  I watched her walk back out, her world changed forever.

I got a call that same day and was told that a little girl we know from a missionary family in Kampala had just passed away unexpectedly from an extremely rare case of malaria.  I couldn't believe it.  We went to a service at their home that night.  We watched with eyes wide open as a mother cried out in grief.  She asked for prayers. She longs to know WHY.  She wants answers.  

There was an unbroken piece in my heart that fell hard this week.  It shattered, and I started asking God a lot of questions.  I told Mallory I was scared because I didn't feel like a very "good Christian"anymore.  I had fits of rage alone in the car, screaming at God to tell me why, demanding answers. Mallory quickly reminded me there was no such thing as a "good Christian," and that I should keep asking God questions because He would surely answer. 

  Thankfully, I'm not screaming like a crazy person on my drive home from work.  Instead, I figured God heard what I had to say, and now I just have to open my ears.  I'm not expecting to ever understand why little girls die, or why millions of people die from HIV/AIDS, or why God doesn't heal every person you pray for. 

I have been judging the goodness of God on the circumstances around me this week.  I have forgotten the most important part of the story. Jesus came to earth, he taught us how to live and die, and then he decided to take on the powers of hell and destroy death for those who would only believe in Him.  

God gave me an answer this morning.  He told me there are things I will never understand, but I have to understand this one thing-

"For the mountains may move and the hills disappear, but even then my faithful love for you will remain. My covenant of blessing will never be broken, says the LORD, who has mercy on you." -Isaiah 54:10

I have to understand He loves me.  That He loves you. That His will will be done on earth as it is in Heaven.  That He has defeated the powers of death.  I will live forever. I long to spend the rest of my life understanding the answer that Jesus gave us on the cross. 

"indeed, nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord." -Romans 8:39