The one who's hands in mine...

I wrote this last week but only just got a chance to post....

One of my favourite things in the world is walking along with a childs hand in mine. There is something about God in it. Feeling a little hand in yours is like nothing else. Its motherhood. That’s what I love so much about my job. Everyday I get to be a mother to so many little hands, so many little faces, so many little hearts.

Today I was walking through Banda with one of my favourite little boys, Junior. Hes probably about 5 years old and is the most cuddly kid in the whole of Uganda! At steet club whilst the other kids are all jumping around singing the songs and playing the games all Junior wants to do is be held. As we walked through the tiny, messy streets of Banda slum I couldn’t help but feel pretty lucky. This little boy who lives in a small house no bigger than my bathroom at home with 7 or 8 others just for a small amount of time when im holding his hand gets to feel loved and wanted. He gets to feel like the most important little boy in the world because at that moment to me he is.

Living here and giving my heart to so many little ones feels so difficult sometimes, it feels like effort, like I don’t have enough to give them. And then other times I can walk along a dusty road with a baby boy attached to my arm and it all becomes so simple again. Adam walked with God in the Garden of Eden. He was in relationship and he felt loved. That’s what I mean by theres something about God in it. When im walking with Junior all my attention is on him, all my love is for him. It’s the only way you can love in this place, the only way you can function. Loving the one infront of you, or in my case the one who’s hand is in mine.

Loving to the end of myself

When it comes to love, who am I to draw the line and say how far is too far? It is so easy to make the gospel the hardest thing in the world. We can get so caught up with rules and regulations but surely it just comes down to one thing. One very simple revelation. Love is not limited by anything. So why are we? Why am I?

On our way home from Kampala town last night we drove past a kid begging at the side of the road. I couldn’t tell if it was a girl or a boy so I'm naming him or her baby. Baby must have been only 5 or 6, all alone in the dark, crying. I’ve seen baby there before, I've crouched down beside her and tried to get a smile out of her, I’ve given him a half full bottle of Fanta and I’ve walked away looking back. But last night we didn’t stop. We drove past not looking back. Its impractical for us to stop here, we are in the middle of the city, its not safe, we have a load of kids back in our slums that I can stop for tomorrow or the next day.

I thought about baby the whole way home in the car and when I went to sleep I had a dream. I was in a car with a load of strangers. We were packed into this big truck driving down a dusty street when I saw a man at the side of the road. He was covered in blood, all alone, and was dying. As we drove past him not stopping I remember wondering why I hadn’t said anything. Why hadn’t anyone else said anything? After a moment I asked the driver who they stop for. Is there a criteria for who we can save?

I woke up feeling challenged. Feeling broken. I want to be the Good Samaritan in the story. I want to stop. I don’t want my love to be limited by rules and rationalisations. I want a love that is as strong as death. A love that looks back and does something. A love that is uncontrollable and impulsive and selfless. A love that isn’t afraid. Jesus Christ loved me to the end of himself; I want my love to look the same. I want to love Uganda to the end of myself, holding nothing back, keeping nothing aside, spending everything. I want to stop for Baby or whoever else Jesus puts in front of me.

My prayer is that Jesus will be gracious enough to show me the way, and that he will show you too.