It's been that long since my feet were walking on the red dirt of Uganda, since my ears heard their songs of praise, and since my eyes seen redemption.
I haven't been able to put into words of what it feels like being back, and what I still see when I close my eyes, or what I hear right before I fall asleep.
I still see the boy bleeding profusely as his mother comforted him, I hear the voices of the kids singing in their language, I see babies sitting on the ground with their naked bottoms. I close my eyes, and the mothers faces flash before my eyes, their helpless eyes, their dry hands struggling to provide for their families. My ears hear babies crying in the hospital from heat and confusion, I feel the taps on my shoulder from desperate hands of mothers. I still see Uganda.
For a writer, we feel things on a different level, and we must write about it to make sense of things, what terrified me the most was that I couldn't even write. Why?
This trip, the journey I was taken on this time revealed so much of His plans for my life, and also showed me my heart. As cliche as that sounds, I finally look in the mirror and explicitly see what I am and what I need to be.
Stepping foot on American soil, I began praying for God to take away anything that is not of His goodness, anything that is not what He intended in my life to be.
I prayed so hard for my heart to become right with Him, to have my feelings, actions, and thoughts align with Him.
Not realizing that most of the things that are not of Him came from within me. My selfish needs, my selfish mindset, and my thoughts.
Tonight, I realized that although the trip was hard on my eyes and hard on my heart, I thrived in that country because I was needed and wanted. I got high on the kids smiles when they would see me, their little hands holding mine, and their little faces buried in my chest as they slept. I was overwhelmed by their love and their want for my presence. They did not know my dirt, they looked at me with unconditional love, they held me with purest of hearts.
It was all about "me.." and then I saw the problem.
See, this life is not about me, it is not about my needs, it is not about the "I" mindset. If people here choose to look at me as just one of their options, so be it. If they choose to not see my potential, it's fine, if they overlook the person I could be, I'll be ok. I don't know if I'll ever learn, but as long as I'm living it is solely because He gives me breath, so there must be a reason I'm here, there must be a reason as to why I still exist here. Uganda, God knows that's my home, but He is teaching me how to live outside of my comfort zone, where it is hard, where love seems to be withheld at times, where pride has it's reign, where "me" is first.
Eighteen days feel like eternity. Each day passing, I see that I don't belong here, I see that I was made for somewhere else, but He is choosing to keep me here to learn lessons I could not learn anywhere else.
I have made this life about me, about what I need, what needs of mine need to be met, and people fail one hundred percent of the time. What right do I have to own this life? What right to I have to feel as though I deserve to be noticed? He gave up His life without question, He put Himself last, and here I am whining.
C.S Lewis, all time favorite theologian, novelist, and a poet described my heart
"If we find ourselves with a desire that nothing in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that we were made for another world.”
Pray for me and with me as I overcome my personal weaknesses and fight my battles. Let me be taught that this life is about loving others who may come short of their actions of love. Let my heart be last and His people be first in my life.
If I'm willing to put the people of Uganda first, I should put the people in my life first as well, with no expectations, with not putting any obligation on them, they owe me nothing, but I have a purpose, and it is to LOVE regardless.
I must decrease and He must increase.