Sharing their Past while Redemption is Near

Monday I had surgery. I have not had any time to be anxious about it. No thought has been given to them putting a catheter into my carotid artery to go fishing through my vein system to start closing off bad veins. Sounds super scary after just reading what I wrote and yet I had no time to really contemplate this until arriving at the hospital on Monday morning for the cattle call that was taking place. Yep, I was one of 48 scheduled surgeries. First off, I had no idea where to be or go. When I found out where I was suppose to be, no one seemed to really care that I had flown over the Atlantic for this surgery and that I was concerned to get labs done and maybe even meet my doctor. It would be nice to see and talk to this person that was going to stick something into my neck while I was half knocked out.... I began to get anxious, and cried, a little. Then God comforted me through my friend Elisabeth and sister Abby who were cracking jokes and cutting it up with the other gazillion people who were having surgery that day. Laughter is a good medicine, especially with those you love and have been missing. In my anguish it came up that I wanted coffee so very badly, who woulda thought right? Then the chick sitting across from us said as she sipped on her cup of coffee, “this is my 8^th surgery and I drink coffee everytime.” Good grief, it made me want to run to the coffee cart, but I thought better of it decided to get angry at the”Angry Birds” game which brought more giggles from all of us. So we laughed for the next 2 hours. Then I was finally wheeled down to Angio and the Interventional Radiology unit to meet my ROCKSTAR nurse Michelle. She was more than a nurse, she was my “drug” keeper and comedian and just as crazy as Abby and Liz and so we laughed and laughed some more. By the time Dr York spoke with me I forgot (ok not really) that I was there to have surgery. The laughter was that good...a forget the moment kind!  Then it was time....and I began to sing in my head, 

"I meet with You and my soul sings out

As your word throws doubt far away

I sing to You and my heart cries

"Holy! Hallelujah, Father, You're near!"

My hope is in You, Lord

All the day long, I won't be shaken by drought or storm

A peace that passes understanding is my song

And I sing my hope is in You, Lord."  

Surgery went well. We will not know if it was a success for several weeks as my body reroutes blood back to my heart. If I am still in pain in 4 weeks, another trip to the US and surgery will be in store. Praying that complete healing comes from this so we can focus on Uganda and the new life that God has awaiting us.

This week has found me lying in bed after surgery thinking ALOT! Thinking of all sorts of things. The crazy things a person thinks about when there is just an overabundance of time to think. I have been thinking about the children, beds, clothes, shoe sizes, schooling, what Uganda is really like and will I love it and wish to stay, the moments I hug my new little sweeties, food, traveling 36+ hours from Uganda to Seattle, church, new orders, seeing friends and family...you name it, it has gone through my mind. As I was trying to fill time I ran across a post by Christie, the ministry director, on her blog. It was a post about our new children. In this post she recounts the the day that Duncan, Faith, and Mark were brought to them. I cried and rejoiced. I cried because I am scared. I should be. It is where God wants me for it causes me to cling to Him for the uncertainties. I am so thankful that we have been called out to be used by God in this manner and yet I know that I can rest in Him through it all..that my Hope is in Him, no matter where life takes us.

I rejoice because redemption is nigh. Our day to travel is less than 7 weeks away and soon we will be holding new ones in our arms, picturing what Christ has done for us.

And so I share...their story. The story that is the beginning of the rest of their life with us....

The following words were penned by Christie Magera the day after the children were brought to them…

“The day was winding down and it had been good. The best we’d had in a long time. Because even on our “date days”, the phone still rings with emergencies. We’d love to turn it off but because of the kids, we just can’t. It was 9pm and we hadn’t had a single emergency. No one showed up at the door with a dying child. No woman sat on our front porch all day just wanting to talk with us about how her husband had abandoned her and her 7-8 children and she needed our help. Our van wasn’t used as an ambulance. No one was fighting over land. No one had just become homeless. No one came to us needing a job. No one that currently serves our “bead ministry” by making hand-made paper beads that I, in turn, ship to the US to be sold had come asking for more work (which we won’t have until the beads we have sell). George wasn’t needed to settle a domestic dispute. Our Saturday make-shift clinic was closed a couple weeks ago because of the Ebola outbreak in the next town. It reopens on Monday, but even still, no sick children/adults were brought to our door. It was, if only for a day, we were free. Free from work. Free from the overwhelming heartbreak we face on a daily basis. Free to just be. 

But that was short-lived. At 10pm, we received a call from our probation officer (child welfare). She would be here in 1.5 hours with 3 children whose resettlement had failed. I was broken because we knew they were coming but my heart still held onto hope for all these months that we’d never see them here. I so wanted their family situation to work itself out. But we tried, and sometimes God’s plan is just beyond what we can fathom. Another night with 23 under our roof and here we are about to receive 3 more. And at 11:30pm?!?! That’s not enough time for them to see the village, our home, or to interact with our children so they’re not so scared when nighttime comes and they’re in a strange place. I saw headlights and it was too late to worry about all those details. 

First out of the car was a shy, very sad looking 3-year-old boy with shorts so long they looked like pants and a filthy white shirt with blood all over it – seems he had a sore in his nose that bled on the way here. Next was a pretty little 4-year-old girl in a peach dress. The kind of dress they buy on the streets of Kampala and a lot of the children here wear to church on Sundays. It was torn and tattered and her dirty white sandals either didn’t fasten or no one took the time to try before she left home. Lastly emerged a 7-year-old boy in clothes that clearly didn’t fit him. Way too small for his height. He removed his shoes upon entering our home but the other 2 didn’t. We visited with the probation officer and finished getting the details she’d gathered from the grandmother about any changes that had made since the attempted resettlement a few months ago. 

She left at midnight and seated on our sofa were 3 confused children but the older 2 were consumed with the TV so they didn’t appear very scared. The 3-year-old was. As is often the case here, we take in children who appear one age but when they come to us, they are so malnourished that they look years younger. I was definitely expecting smaller children. That being said, we hadn’t planned their sleeping arrangements too well. We had room in the living room, so 2 could sleep on the sofas and one could sleep on a foam mattress that we would borrow from the “prayer room” behind our home. The family that was here serving left last week so since we have an internal door that connects the 2 homes, we moved the 6 girls into a bedroom in that part of our “newly-extended home”. We figured that if the 3 new ones woke during the night, they would at least need to be with other children, not alone in the living room, so we woke our girls and put one new child with each. I thank God that our children are open to serving with us in ways that wake them in the middle of the night. I thank God that our children are open to serving with us in ways that take away their comfort also, and they allow children who are complete strangers in their beds because they know they’ve been there before. Without hesitation, they take them in. Without hesitation, they lend a helping hand. Without hesitation, they open their hearts. Just. Like. Their. Parents. Thank You, Jesus for them. 

When George told the 3-year-old to remove his shoes and get ready for bed, he matter-of-factly told him, “my shoes have refused.” We laughed but that all came crashing down when his two older siblings went to bed without issues and he was left with 2 people he didn’t know. He wailed. And wailed. I carried him around the living room whispering, in Luganda, “Keep quiet. Don’t cry.” I’m pregnant, it was after midnight, and he was heavy. Really heavy. So I made my way to the sofa and decided that sitting and holding him would be better. At that point, I wished I didn’t know a single word in Luganda. He sobbed and sobbed repeating, “I want to go home!” My heart broke into a million pieces so I didn’t try to keep him quiet or plea with him not to cry. I just held him as he screamed. And I prayed, “Jesus, calm his heart. We tried. We tried to keep his family together. You know those details. Jesus, he’s crying to go home where they don’t want him. God help me. This is too much.” I must have prayed that for 15 minutes. Then he started screaming “Maama! Maama!” I know that story. The pain. I crumbled. Inside. Didn’t want to cry with him. I had to be strong. When that failed, I spotted the crackers that Josiah will fight tooth and nail for so I sat him in my lap and then gave him a few. He was distracted. 

That was short-lived also. Kizza said something to him that made him stop wailing. Again, I wish I didn’t know Luganda. She told him that he could go home tomorrow. Honestly, we’ve never taken in a child that has wanted to go home so this was all she knew to say. We don’t like this. This isn’t something we look forward to doing, nor do we even know how to handle it. Gosh, most of the children that come to us from the probation officer are too little to even know what’s going on and the older ones of the 7 siblings we just recently took in witnessed the death of their mother and were abandoned by their father and on their own for so long that they were ecstatic to be here. And while I was not OK hearing those words being told to him, it’s the only thing that got him to bed. Well, until George came back inside and peeked in on them. He returned with him in his arms. They sat on the sofa until I started to fade. I went to bed and they slept there on the sofa. 

When I was getting ready to come out of our bedroom and greet the day, the little girl passed by. She was still in her peach Church dress and didn’t yet have a smile for me. It registered what had happened the night before. 

George returned from church and I wish I’d never asked him how the morning went. He told me about how the 3 new ones had joined the rest of our crew out back where they all sat on the steps and “took their breakfast”. He went out to talk to the 7-year-old boy and the 3-year-old was frantic because he “had delayed going to the shops so long that he just knew they were already open.” Seems that the way things were in their great-grandmother’s home, left them pretty much fending for themselves. In fact, they were so independent that upon waking, they went into the slums and visited the local shops where they would spend the day playing with other children or feeding off of the lunches of the shopkeepers. Heartbreaking. The older brother told him, “You can’t go. The shops are far.” This crushed the 3 year old. This was all he knew. George quickly intervened with a cup of juice and he replied, “Oh, juice! This is what that one man would give me at his shop.” Heart. Sigh. 

  Since George was the only one that could comfort the youngest into the wee hours of the morning, it didn't surprise me to find that after bathing, he'd made his way around front and was vying for time in his lap.”