Eyes.

Jacob after 2 weeks of treatment

All of them were high
Eyes swollen with redness
Drug induced fevers dripping sweat into eyes 
Eyes that circled the room unable to focus
Eyes that weren’t seeing reality
Wanting to be blind, because it’s better than what they see. 
Except for one. 

His eyes weren’t swollen, itchy, or red - 
But full of pain
squinted together trying to hold back tears.

He had been beaten with a piece of jagged metal, 
for sleeping on a sidewalk,
because there are no parents to give him a bed. 

His fever was from infection, not from drugs, 
His wound was close to two inches deep, 
And he didn’t need to be there.                                                  

He was welcomed home with joy from his brothers, 
He was taken to the hospital every day for two weeks, 
He has fallen into the family and nobody wants to see him go, 

Because that Jacob, his eyes were open, 
He never saw himself lost,
He had been waiting, 
Because he could see something better coming. 

                                                                

An Odd Pair

I would say that he is 8 

But that’s hard to say, because when most of our boys lived on the street they looked like they were 11 or 12, and now after two years of being fed and several inches later, they look more like what they should be, 15 or 16. 

He was high on ‘chenge’ - the local drug that street kids use here. 
Petrol exhaust. 
It curbs the hunger and the fear.

(Chenge) 

His high wore off by the end of the program and he took my hand saying he wanted to walk me to my taxi. 
He wanted me to get there safely. 
We walked. 
Me and my protector. 
A funny pair we made, a tall white woman with a small, extremely dirty black child. 

We stopped to buy fabric for our new backpacks. 
He hesitated when I entered the store. 
His type are usually not allowed in any store, even the local markets. 
I grabbed his hand and pulled him in there with me. 
Two years ago I would have been ashamed to let a street kid see me spend 100,000 shillings ($40) on fabric, while they were busy scraping together 100 shillings a day to eat. 

Today was different. 
For a moment, I wanted him to know that he isn’t a street kid. 
We laughed as we picked out fabric. 
Trying out different ones and parading around the small store. 
He became a “Kitenge” fabric expert and very carefully selected his best fabrics. 

He walked me to my taxi, right to the door, and then turned around back into the crowd and the big city swallowed him. 

My protector should be protected. He should be clean. He should be fed. He should be able to laugh every day and dream big dreams. He should be loved. 
Only in the kingdom will every child experience that. 

We are prayerfully planning to bring in two more kids in December (plus the one we acquired last week - but I’ll save that story for another blog) 
Logistically, our house will be stretching to hold 11 boys. 
I look at my protector and want to bring him home. 
I know that it’s not quite possible right now. 
It would be easier for me to break off this relationship. 
To not invest in a boy that I can’t help until we have a bigger LAND! ( I said it! We’re looking!) 
To not let myself fall in love with a child where I don’t know what’s going to happen. 
To protect him from looking for those from me as well. 
People say that you can’t let your heart break for every kid.
But I think that Jesus’ does. 
I think Jesus sees a purpose greater than getting this kid off the street. 
I think Jesus looks at him and says “I paid the price for him too.” 
I wish we could take them all. I really do. 
But more than that, I want them to know what the love of Jesus is, that he doesn’t call them street kids, but he calls them His own. 
And I think that’s worth a walk to the taxi park. 

-Mal

What I see.

When I pray for our kids  I don't see them sitting in class, learning English, and doing the day to day things they do.  I see them as young men, growing in faith and love, and doing so much more. Maybe sooner than we think.

I see Tim standing up in a room full of people, preaching the gospel with a steadiness and faith that resembles Steven in the book of Acts.

I see Bwanika reaching out to the broken, powerless, left-out women and children- showing them a straight and narrow path full of hope and love.  All the while making a lot of people laugh.

I see Fred raising up his own family one day, leading them in power, wisdom, and truth.

I see Sam being compelled by the love of Christ to hold the hand of the broken, far-off, and sick.

I see Edwin having more friends than anyone on the planet, God using his bright eyes, smile, and personality to usher the Kingdom here on earth.  He will probably change his profession 100 times.

I see Ivan- strong, confident, and humble.  Refined by the Fire of the Holy Spirit, leading sheep to their Shepherd.

I see Richard leading a generation of children to come awake with the love and passion of God.  I see him creating some pretty cool artwork along the way too.

I see Morris teaching, pouring into the kids that struggle the most, and expecting the impossible from a very possible God.

I see other kids being welcomed into our home, and the same crazy growth rising up in them.

Here we are, with tears in our eyes watching this all happen, watching the death of self give birth to completely new creations that will change Uganda and the world.