the darker the night, the brighter the day

Its funny how sometimes life sweeps your feet out from under you.  Funny is the wrong word - painful is probably more appropriate.  We get comfortable and things become easy, and then bam…you’re on your back and its difficult to even work out how you got there.  Life has felt a little like that lately for me.  Some of you may have read my previous post about Alex.  My little boy from Banda who passed away over a month ago now.  Every day I think about Alex, I still regularly cry about how much I miss him, and I still very much feel the pain of having to say good bye to him way to early in his life.

Death is a really hard thing to process.  And its not until living in this country that I have fully understood that.  In the last year and a half I have prayed for 5 people to be raised from the dead.  I have comforted children after losing their mother, I have carried a 1 month old baby back from the hospital in a bag, I have looked into the face of one of my most precious little boys and said goodbye, I have fought through the crowd in my slum to be stared in the face by the hopelessness of a premature baby thrown in the river by a mother who didn’t know what else to do and I have prayed with the family of a dear friend taken at the age of 27 by AIDs.

Life…

It sweeps your feet out from under you.

There is nothing that can ever prepare you for what I have seen and been exposed to over the 18 months.  The darkness that has covered this earth is thick and heavy.  You can breathe it in and you can feel it.  Its so very easy to close your eyes but its impossible not to breathe or to feel.

So I suppose my question is how do I keep breathing? How do I keep feeling?  In this place where the reality is that people die every day how do I stay vulnerable?  How do I stop my soul from hiding deep down under all the hurt and all the crap so it never feels again?  There are so many questions.  But very slowly I think I'm learning.  I'm moving forward.

You know when you fall on your back there is only one place you can look…

Up.

When you fall on your back you are forced into a position that means you focus less on what’s going on around you, and more on what is happening above.  Looking up seems to me to be the only way forward at the moment.  Because when I look into heaven I'm reminded that through everything God is still good, He is still with me, I have not been left to walk this journey alone.  And the even more beautiful thing is that when I look into heaven, I see the faces of those I have said goodbye to, I see hope in the most hopeless of situations, and I am able to breathe in, I'm able to breathe in a little more darkness as hope makes its heaviness light.  I'm able to feel a little more, I'm able to grow my heart and stand in the darkness with my eyes raised and my hands open.

You see, Jesus makes everything beautiful.  Not because he sugar coats stuff or he makes life easy, but because He is there in it all.  In the movement and the still, in the joy and the mourning, in the dark and the light, He is there.  He is so very present.  I am not alone.

I have been listening to this song on repeat at the moment…Its by Kristene DiMarco and it reminds me to keep looking up.

…

“The darker the night

The brighter the day

The fiercer the fight

The stronger the faith

So I place my hope in You…”

“In Your ways oh God

Redemption is so much better than perfection

In Your ways oh God…”

“Over and over

You prove You're so faithful

Over and over

You prove Yourself a redeemer”

…

The darker the night, the brighter the day.

For Alex.

This last week has possibly been one of the most difficult I’ve had in Uganda.  Scrap that, it HAS been.  I’ve written blogs before about how much I love the communities we work in, but most of all I love Banda.  Banda is my baby, its my kid, it’s the community that I spend every day of my life in, loving it back to life and away from pain and hopelessness.  The last few days have felt a lot like Banda is escaping my grasp.  Its wriggling out of my grip.  Like a child that is fighting the hold of their parent.  Banda is pushing me to my limits.

On Friday in the early hours of the morning I was woken by my housemates.  We had brought Alex into our clinic as he had been really sick the last few days and we wanted to keep an eye on him.  When they came through my door I could feel something was up.  You know the feeling you get when you know its too late for you to change anything, too late to go back and do it differently, too late to stop the words that are about to escape and reach your ears changing you forever.  I had one of those moments.  And the words just keep replaying in my mind over and over.  Alex died.  Just two little words.  They cant be taken back.  I'm changed forever.

Its times like these that I really realise how much I need Jesus.  I need to feel close to him.  To hear his voice.  Otherwise I don’t want to be here.  Its too painful. 

I can remember the day I found Alex.  He was sat just outside his house all alone and I scoped him up in my arms and held him for a while.  I sat with him and stroked his back.  I told him he was really loved and that it was all going to be okay.  Alex was a little boy that had no hope.  He suffered from HIV and a horrible case of TB and I could see that from the moment I saw him.  He was dying.  After that day we committed to going back to visit Alex as often as we could.  We eventually put him on our feeding programme and would bring him clothes and toys when we could.  I remember how at first he was so sick he wouldn’t be held by anyone but his Mama.  He would be so fussy and was sulky whenever any of us came near him.  Slowly the more we went to see him the more he would soften to us.  Gradually he became one of our little boys, he became this little boy full of life and love.  He would run to us as we walked down his little street.  He would stretch his hands up to me to pick him up.  He would cry when I left him.  He was the manifestation of what love can do in the face of evil. 

I think that’s what I'm finding so hard about his death.  To me with my earthy eyes all I can see is that death won, evil won, and that hurts.  If that is true then that makes everything I have ever believed about Jesus a lie.  It means that hope is useless and faith doesn’t work.  It means I cant change the world around me and I cant trust in anything.  It is very easy for me to trust Jesus when witch doctors are getting saved and people are getting healed, but in the face of death, when you look down on one of your little ones once alive and full of life, now empty and cold its not so easy to believe the words Jesus once said.   

I think most people have been there at some point.  Maybe it doesn’t look the same as what I am walking through right now but disappointment happens to everyone.  For many it is a far too familiar feeling.  But I have come to this conclusion.  I have a choice to make.  What am I going to believe in?  Death or Jesus? The answer is obvious to me but at the same time it has been in hiding.  It still is a little.  To me it feels like I'm letting Alex down in some way, if I chose Jesus and let go then I'm saying what happened to Alex was okay.  It feels like if I allow Jesus to heal my heart I will lose Alex, I will forget, I wont remember what it was like to love him anymore.  My heart is afraid of that.  But I think the most beautiful thing is that Jesus knows that and He’s willing to wait for me.  He is willing to wait for me to find the answer to a question that is so simple and uncomplicated.  That is the beauty of the one who loves not only me but also loved Alex, still loves Alex. 

So Alex this one is for you.  I'm going to let my heart be healed but I'm not going to forget you.  I'm going to remember with everything I am that you were a little boy who I loved.  You were a little boy who was transformed by the power of Heaven.  I'm going to believe Jesus and not death.  For you.  

Today I Remembered.

Today was one of those days that I felt like Africa punched me in the face.  Since coming back from the UK life here has seemed pretty “normal”.  Maybe even easy.  We have spent the last couple of weeks preparing for our sponsored kids to start school again…that means telling parents their kids are going to get to go to school for the first time…buying school shoes…registering new kids…all wonderful and glorious; everything you would expect of getting to be school Santa to so many little beautiful Ugandan faces. 

But today was different.  Today was a day when the world seems unfair, and Africa seems cruel.  Today I met Mama V.  She is a widow as of a month and a half ago.  A new mother as of 11 days ago.  And she is homeless as of today.  With no job, a newborn baby and the weight of the loss of her husband Mama V is trapped.  She has no way to pay for anywhere to live and since her husband died has been living with a friend.  But her friend is getting tired.  Tired of having 2 extra mouths to feed.  So she has asked her to find a new place.

I always love going back home to the UK for my “holidays”.  I love spending time with my family and friends.  I love getting to treat myself to things I could never get here.  I love the ease of living in such an affluent country.  I love having power everyday.  But all that stuff makes it very easy to forget Africa.  Stuff clouds your mind and slowly but surely pushes out everything that was once your daily reality.  I'm not saying its wrong…part of me thinks that if I was constantly thinking about Uganda whilst I was home I would have a breakdown.  But all that being said, forgetting inevitably means that at some stage you are going to be reminded. 

Today I remembered.

I remembered what it feels like to watch a mama weep as she holds her tiny precious baby in her arms mourning the loss of a husband who wasn’t meant to die.  It hurts.  Seriously hurts.  And I don’t even know if that’s okay?!  How can I sit here on my mac laptop in my lovely house with my new fan keeping me cool and complain about my heart?  How can I be moved by compassion without making it about me?  I live with an amazingly inspiring friend called Amy.  She is the one that always understands when I'm a wreck because of stuff I have seen in the slums.  She understands because she has been there…she is there now.  She told me tonight that compassion only works if it leads to something.  Compassion without action is pity…and pity doesn’t lead anywhere.  It lasts a fleeting moment and before you know it its forgotten.

I remember once again the example Jesus sets when it comes to faithfulness.  I believe faithfulness is one of the most powerful expressions of love.  It is unbreakable, unchanging and ruthless.  There is no way faithfulness can lose, because it never gives up.  If I'm able to be faithful to Mama V in the way that Jesus is to me then surely she will experience just a glimpse of how much her Father in heaven loves her.  Surely she will know He has a plan for her.  Surely she will see His hope in my eyes as I look at her and tell her Revelation Life are for her and that she is not alone.  Surely she will know I'm here not because of pity but because I want to see her situation change.  I want to help relieve the pain, if even just for a little bit.

For Mama V Jesus is already proving his faithfulness.  During discipleship as she shared her story another Mama who comes along felt compassion.  She has been there before too, and offered Mama a job so she can start paying a little rent to her friend and hopefully stay there a bit longer.  Once again Jesus declares his ever-present presence…through the actions and love of others. 

It seems so simple yet at the same time very very difficult…walking in the footsteps of Christ.  I suppose we tend to overcomplicate things and that means that stuff gets in the way.  Today I remembered that even though I may not be able to bring Mama V’s husband back, or put a roof over her head, I can still sit with her, listen to her story and give my heart to her.  I can be faithful.  Simple and yet very very difficult.  But so totally worth it. 

  

Hope is what I live by here...

I feel like most of the time my blog turns into a place I can vent and process all the crapy stuff that happens on a regular basis living in this place, but today I want to tell you a story of joy, and of hope.  A story to warm your hearts and reminds you of the goodness of God in all the mess.  A story that makes my job worth every second of power cuts and cold showers and beatings from the kids and heart breaking situations.

This is Sharifa…

She is one of my most favourites.

Sharifa has hydrocephalus (fluid on the brain) and without an operation her head will gradually swell and she will die from brain damage.

A few months ago Mama brought Sharifa to our mobile medical unit to be seen by our doctor.  We met her and immediately fell in love.  Sharifa is one of the happiest babies I’ve seen here.  She is always smiling and making these crazy happy screams (one of the best sounds in the whole world in my opinion…yes I love babies!!), she is hands down beautiful.  As I sat and talked to mama about their situation and she explained how she was watching Sharifa die as she didn’t have the 200,000 USH to pay for her treatment (that’s £50) I knew we had to do something.  After chatting to my bosses here we decided we would pay the £50 to save Sharifa's life (it was a pretty easy decision).  

The day we went to tell mama was by far one of the top 5 experiences I've had here.  I cant really explain to you the feeling of watching a mothers face as you tell her her daughter is going to live.  Very few times have I actually seen mamas here cry.  They tend to hide all emotion, even happiness, but this day was not a day to hold back.  As she thanked us again and again and the tears rolled down her face (and maybe a few down mine too) everything seemed so simple again.  This all happened the day after I found out another mama in one of the other slums we work in had died leaving her 4 children without a mother and all alone.

Mama Sharifa continued to tell us of how she had thought many times about throwing Sharifa away as she couldn’t bear the thought of slowly watching her die…imagine being that hopeless.  Every time she would get close she would feel Jesus speaking to her…so she would hang on…and she would pray.  Pray for hope.  Hope for her baby’s life.  She would pray that God would make a way for her daughter to be saved…which is funny because God has already done that…His name is Jesus.  Today we just got to be His hands and feet.

There is always hope.  And hope carries power.  Its not a wishy washy word.  It carries weight, and has the authority to break though darkness, pain and even death.  Hope is the air in the situations where you cant catch your breath.  It’s the memory of what the sky looks like in the places where you look up and all you see is darkness.  Hope is what I live by here.  And on this particular day I had the honour of being the manifestation of the dream for Mama Sharifa.

Since this happened Sharifa has had her operation and it all went really well.  She is still the happiest little baby ever and now has hope for a beautiful future.  Every time we visit Mama she is always the first to welcome us into her home as she repeats again and again the same “thank you” s she once said, and continues to tell Sharifa how much Jesus loves her (and how much we do too!!)

I hope this small glimpse into my life here has brightened your day even just a little.  And has helped reminded you that no matter how dark it gets there is always still the memory of the sky to help you breathe again.

Faithfulness

I don’t really know where to begin with this blog. God has been speaking to me a lot about faithfulness over the last few months…and yet I still don’t really know how to put it into words. Even as I'm writing this I don’t really know what’s going to go down on paper next. The words “thank you” don’t even begin to cover is, so I'm left speechless.

There are so many times in the bible that the Lord reveals His faithfulness. It is like his signature move. He cant get enough of it. And its not just written in the book, it’s a reality for me too. In everything He does in my life, His faithfulness is there. Where I am today is because of Him.

Psalm 78 is one of those psalms that talks about Israel’s unfaithfulness to God. Again and again His people effectively stab Him in the back, they are quick to turn to their old ways, and are consistently bad at loving the one who saved them…yet he never leaves. He is faithful to the end.

I don’t know if I have ever thanked God for being so faithful to mankind, not just me but to all of us…Its this beautiful sacrifice that he made and continues to make. He is almost limited by it. For Him faithfulness isn’t a choice anymore, its his very nature.

The idea that I can ask something of Him, and if he says yes to that request, it becomes almost a reality before its breathed into life…Even though I don’t necessarily see it yet, God is so faithful to His promises, and can even see the results of them, that it is truth even before its time.

In Psalm 91 it says Gods faithfulness is a shield to me. So when I'm afraid and I ask Him to draw close to me I don’t need to worry what its going to look like, or if I can even feel it, His faithfulness to me is what makes it a reality. And His faithfulness to my life is the protection part, the shield part. He is so faithful that He becomes my safety.

We have been working in Banda slum for the last year and a half now, and in the last few months we have seen nearly 20 people saved and delivered. Those salvations are a result of the faithfulness we have shown to the people of Banda slum who have been written off by the world and by their own countries leaders.

Regularly as a ministry we ask ourselves what love looks like. What does love look like to a people who have been forgotten and abandoned and broken and treated like the very least? It looks like faithfulness. Faithfulness beyond the beatings from the kids, the lies we receive from the mamas and the remarks from people who don’t like Muzungu’s (white people). A faithfulness that we could never carry without the power of the Holy Spirit living inside of us. We learn from the one who sent us here, and I'm my fathers daughter. So slowly my papa God is teaching me a little what its like to look like Him. And He knows the best way to teach is by example. So here I am, living in one of the poorest countries in the world, serving the broken and basking in the sunlight of the faithfulness of a God who was faithful to the end of himself. Thank you Daddy.