Kisses from Katie

by Katie J. Davis

  Mary was a mother. I am a mother. As long as God keeps giving me these precious children of His, I will continue to love them to the best of my ability. I will be an inadequate, uncertain, loving-with-everything-I-have, filled-with-more-joy-than-I-deserve mother.

  God has a way of using inadequate people, and sometimes He calls us to reach a little higher or to stretch a little further, even when we feel we can’t do any more. We simply trust Him. And then, He gives us everything we need to do the “more” that He is asking of us. When God asked me to bring another daughter into our family, it didn’t matter that I might burn her toast from time to time. All that mattered was that I would love her.

  I remember receiving the phone call that one of the children in our sponsorship program had just lost her mother. I raced to the scene. As I entered the room, my eyes scanned the small space until they rested on six-year-old Sarah, curled up on the dirt floor next to the body of her mother, weeping. In the darkness of the crowded mud hut that night, Sarah recognized me as Auntie Katie and crawled into my lap as she listened to her neighbors discuss where she would go now that her mother had passed away.

  My heart ached as I held Sarah’s hand the next day at her mother’s funeral. Her relatives had informed her that she was to come and live with me, and while Sarah had some measure of affection for me as the woman who paid her school fees, I could not imagine that talk of a new mother brought her any comfort as relatives lowered her biological mother into the ground.

  As we walked away that day, heading home to our ever-growing family, Sarah hid her eyes behind my oversized white sunglasses and flashed me the first smile I had seen from her in days. A cool breeze blew through the still hot day and my heart burst with compassion for my new little girl.

  Sarah was shy and solemn those first few weeks, but slowly she began to show her spunky and inquisitive spirit. Sarah is a child full of playful whimsy and imagination with bright dancing eyes and a beautiful smile. She has a courageous and kind heart and is one of the most creative people I have had the privilege of meeting. Like my other girls, she is wise and independent beyond her years, but never misses a chance to be playful or to burst into joyful song. She is deeply loyal to her family and to God and loving to all she meets.

  Sarah fit right into our family and the other girls embraced her with love, compassion, and gladness. Our family was growing at an astounding rate, and every time someone new joined us, my heart became more deeply rooted in Uganda. My growing attachment to my new home produced great tension inside me, because all of me wanted to just live in Uganda forever, but that didn’t change the fact that I had promised my parents I would return to the United States and attend college.

  I realized that I had two perfect lives: a perfect life in America with an amazing family who are my main support system, great friends who encourage and help me, a man with whom I was in love, a great education and the opportunity to continue it, and a future bright and teeming with opportunities.

  I also had a perfect life in Uganda with a home, sparsely furnished but full of love and hard work, eight beautiful children who called me mommy, a stunning view of the Nile and God’s splendor all around me, situations that stretch me in ways no college could, big dreams, and a future bright and teeming with opportunities. And all the time I wrestled with my two lives, wondering when the day would come when I had to choose just one. I looked around at my daughters’ toys littering my room and pictures of loved ones back home posted on my walls, and I realized I had everything I could ever want, it was just in two different places. I knew that if the time came when I had to choose, I would pick this new life God had given me, but I wasn’t ready to choose just yet. I wanted to keep my new Ugandan life, but I wanted to keep my American blessings too.

  As August approached, I was aghast at the choice I was about to have to make. While it seemed simple enough, the promise I made my parents now ripped my heart in two. When I made it, I had no idea I would have a house full of daughters when the time came to fulfill it. No part of me wanted to leave them for any amount of time, but at the same time I did want sincerely to honor my mother and father and keep my promise to them.

  God tells us over and over in His Word to obey our parents and I desperately wanted to respect these people who had always supported me and given me everything I needed in life. I did not understand how God could have blessed me with such a perfect new home and family and want me to leave it. I couldn’t imagine leaving my children for an extended period of time, so I thought perhaps I could enroll in a university in the States and complete a semester to appease my parents, then finish my degree online from my home in Uganda.

  With that “one semester and finish online” idea in my mind, I began to pack for a trip that would carry me a long, long way from my new home for an extended period of time. It was a trip that seemed so difficult I could barely breathe when I thought about it. I struggled enormously as I prepared to leave behind everything I’d grown to love and everyone I’d given my heart to. Even though I was going back to a familiar place with familiar people, and even though it would be for only a few months, everything about the immediate future was unknown. I couldn’t imagine being part of the American college scene.

  I knew I would return to Uganda as soon as possible, but I didn’t know what would happen between now and then. I didn’t know what my girls might go through in my absence or what the country might experience while I was away. I wondered what life would look like for the girls without me there with them, and what life would look like for me in a totally different world without the people I loved most. I tried not to think about what I might have to handle long distance, and I certainly couldn’t bear thinking of all the times my daughters would go to sleep without a good-night kiss from me or all the times I would do the same without dozens of kisses from them.

  In the weeks and days leading up to my departure, I made the best arrangements I could for the girls, our home, and Amazima. I entrusted my most precious people—my daughters—to my friend Melissa, knowing she loved them and they loved her. I also knew Melissa had the skills needed to care for all eight girls and I felt comfortable leaving them in her care—well, as comfortable as I could have felt. I left everything pertaining to the house in Christine’s capable hands, knowing she would keep things running smoothly at home and maintain a clean, orderly, pleasant environment for the girls. She would also see that everyone had clean clothes and the most nutritious meals we could afford. I asked Oliver to oversee all aspects of Amazima while I was away, confident that she would do an excellent job. In addition, Oliver would drop by our house often to check on the girls.

  I communicated emergency contingency plans to trustworthy friends and left emergency funds in a lockbox. I didn’t know what else to do, on a practical level, to prepare to leave. But I don’t think I ever could have prepared emotionally. I thought about the fact that several of the girls had lived without a mother for a period of time. Some had hardly known their mothers, others knew their mothers well enough to still feel the fresh pain of losing them. And now I was leaving. They would be loved and well cared for, but in a very real sense, they would also be motherless again. It was so hard on them, and it made me feel sick just to think about it.

  The night before I left, the girls insisted that I sleep in their room. They simply wanted to be near me for as long as possible before our lengthy separation. I slept in a twin bed with little Scovia and all of us awoke at 5:00 A.M. so I could get ready to leave for the airport. It was a grueling early morning with many tears.

  Several weeks earlier, when I answered yes to the question about our hearts exploding when Jesus comes to live inside them, I meant that figuratively. Now I had the feeling my heart might actually explode not because Jesus lives in it, but because of the intensity of the pain and grief I felt over leaving my daughters for months at a time. When the moment came for me to walk out of my house, to a car waiting to drive me to the airport, my heart indeed felt as if it was go
ing to erupt and shatter. I had no choice but to trust that Jesus was in there, holding my heart together.

  With travel arrangements made, a plane to catch, suitcases in hand, and clothes wet with tears from my girls, I had never faced a moment of surrender like I did when I climbed into the car to leave. It was the hardest moment of my life to that point. In simplest terms, I was going to the airport about three hours’ drive from my home. But in reality I was embarking on an agonizing journey of blind faith and pure trust.

  The road out of my village is bumpy. A driver has to navigate potholes like an obstacle course to get from my house to the main road that goes to Kampala and on to the airport at Entebbe. The farther away I got from home, the more my trust had to increase. I kept wondering if the Lord really would be everything I needed for this new and uncertain phase of my life. I couldn’t imagine that my heart had the capacity for any more trust, but with every passing mile, I found that it did.

  ONE DAY . . .

  September 2, 2008

  Ordinary people.

  He chose Moses. He chose David. He chose Peter and Paul. He chose me. He chose you. Common people. Simple people. People with nothing special about them. Nothing special except they said yes. They obeyed. They took the task God assigned them and they did it. They didn’t always do it well, but they said yes, and with His help they did it anyway.

  Extraordinary tasks.

  Moses was a murderer, a shepherd just trying to mind his own business and move on with his life when he watched a bush catch fire and not burn up. God wanted to use him to lead His chosen people out of Egypt. Moses was human and told God that He had the wrong guy. Moses wasn’t an eloquent speaker, and he was afraid. But he said yes, and God used him anyway. The Red Sea parted, bread fell from Heaven, and people believed.

  Jonah was an ordinary fisherman and God wanted to use him to set Nineveh free of its wicked ways. Jonah was human and quickly ran away, overwhelmed by the task God had given him. From the belly of a fish, he repented, he begged for forgiveness. He said yes, and God used him anyway. The people of Nineveh believed in God, turned from their evil ways, and were spared from destruction.

  David was a shepherd boy, pretty much the runt of the litter, the very last thought in his father’s mind, and despised by his brothers. God wanted to use him to be the next great king of Israel. Though everyone doubted and watched in horror, David said yes, and God used him anyway. Little David used a stone to take down the giant Philistine. The Philistines were defeated, and though David continued to make mistakes, God used Him to make Israel a great nation and relay His words to many people.

  Mary was a peasant girl, probably a teenager, getting ready to marry a local carpenter. God wanted to use her to carry His Son, hope for all mankind, into the world. She asked the angel, “Why me?” and “How?” Ultimately, though, she surrendered herself to His will. She said yes, and God used her anyway. A baby was born who transformed the world then, and still does today.

  Paul was a young man who made it his goal to destroy Christianity, dragging believers to prison and even killing them. God wanted to use him to proclaim his name to Gentiles all over the world. Paul had a violent history and initially other believers were afraid. But he said yes, he fearlessly proclaimed the Gospel, and God used him anyway. Paul performed and witnessed miracles, wrote close to half of the Bible, and spread the Good News all over the world.

  Sometimes, the everyday routine of my life feels so normal to me. At other times the idea of raising all these children seems like quite a daunting task. I realize that since I have chosen an unusual path it is easier for outsiders to look at my life and come to the conclusion that it is something extraordinary. That I am courageous. That I am strong. That I am special. But I am just a plain girl from Tennessee. Broken in many ways, sinful, and inadequate. Common and simple with nothing special about me. Nothing special except I choose to say “yes.” “Yes” to the things God asks of me and “yes” to the people He places in front of me. You can too. I am just an ordinary person. An ordinary person serving an extraordinary God.

  10

  A PROMISE TO KEEP

  As my plane made its way around the world from Uganda to Nashville, I could not forget the scene that took place at my house the night before I left for the United States. Agnes, age ten, pleaded with me, “Mom, don’t go to America to work and make money for us. Don’t go to school so you can get a job. Stay here. We will just eat grass if we don’t have money. Yes, that is what we will do. We don’t need money. See?”

  And she ran outside and ate a handful of grass.

  Then she made a face that told me that maybe she wanted to rethink that plan. But how sweet to think that she would rather eat grass than be apart from me. I believe, had I been able to stay and love on my children every single day, I too would have been content to eat grass for the rest of my life.

  But there I was, in the United States. Somehow, despite my desire to get back to Uganda, God allowed a peace that transcends all understanding to flood my soul. In the depths of my spirit, I knew all would be well with my girls. He assured me over and over that my children would be okay. Over the next months, He taught me that they were never really mine to begin with; they were simply gifts with which He had graced me. They were His. Even though my heart ached to know that I could not touch them for a while, He assured me that they would never be out of His loving embrace.

  I’m sure people thought I would feel at home immediately once I arrived at my parents’ house. But this simply wasn’t true. I felt completely out of place, much as I had the last time I had made a visit, but this time I knew my trip would be longer; so the feeling was worse. I felt deeply conflicted because I so wanted to honor my parents and their request for me to attend college and, at the same time, I was devastated over being so far away from my girls. Though I had only parented them for a short time, the mother’s love in my heart was true and God given, and a mother should never have to be so separated from her children.

  I’d like to say that I was nice, polite, pleasant, and graceful about my transition back to the United States—just as a person who loves Jesus so much should be. But I wasn’t. In fact, once I arrived on American soil, I was grumpy and miserable quite a bit of the time. With certain people, I struggled to have even a normal conversation without sobbing.

  I tried to be “okay.” I really did. I know many people, including my parents, thought I wasn’t trying, but I was; I was truly doing my best. I wish now that in doing my best, I had been nicer to my parents, my brother, and my boyfriend. I also wish I’d been nicer to my roommate, a good friend from high school with whom I shared an apartment near the local university I was attending. But unfortunately, the people closest to me caught the greatest force of my sadness and frustration. In trying to do my best, I was at my all-time worst.

  I tried to go to parties. I threw parties; I was really good at that in high school. I went to the gym. I did homework. I went out dancing and on dates with my boyfriend. I really tried to be the person I was before I went to Uganda, healthy and happy and well-adjusted and normal in America. But I wasn’t that person anymore, and while everyone else still expected me to fit in, I didn’t.

  Not long after I arrived in the States, I poured out my heart about feeling like a stranger in my native land in my journal, and I came to a better understanding of why I felt I didn’t belong there.

  I have often wondered since reentering the United States why I feel such great culture shock. How can I feel such a disconnect with the place I was born, raised, and for eighteen years called home? How can I feel that my real home is a place in which I have spent just over a year? I have blamed it on many things.

  American extravagance.

  The grocery store that almost sends me into panic mode due to the sheer quantity and variety of foods.

  People who build million-dollar homes.

  The lack of understanding and a lack of thanksgiving on the part of all of us.

  The
ease with which we receive medical care.

  The amount of stuff that just clutters our lives.

  All these things make it difficult to readjust, yes. But what has been the biggest shock to my system, the huge disconnect, is that I have stepped out of my reliance on God to meet my needs. I “miss” Jesus. He hasn’t disappeared, of course, but I feel so far from Him because my life is actually functioning without Him. By “functioning,” I mean that if I am sick, I go to the drugstore or to the doctor. If I am hungry, I go to the grocery store. If I need to go somewhere, I get in my car. When I need some advice or guidance, I call my mom or go plop on my roommate’s bed. If I want to feel happy, I get Brad, my little brother, or someone else to make me laugh.

  I keep forgetting to ask God first to heal me, to fill me, to guide me, to rejoice with me. I have to set aside “time to pray” in the morning and at night instead of being in constant communication with Him. In Uganda, because I was so physically “poor,” I was completely dependent on God and spiritually as wealthy as ever. As I sit here writing, I am frustrated with my own stupidity, my human willingness to step back into dependence on stuff and these places I swore I detested.

  God blessed me, though, with a few people who really did “get” it, including the May family and my friends Gwen and Suzanne. The only times I was really “okay” during the whole time I was in America were when I was with the Mays, a family I worked for at the time. My job was to care for their terminally ill little boy, Dylan. Not only did I genuinely love Dylan and his family, taking care of him and helping them was the only experience that made me feel I was being useful or doing anything important. Of course, I now see that this wasn’t true. Being kind to my roommate and showing Jesus to the people around me was important. But I think I was too angry with God for instructing me to obey my parents and then allowing me to fall in love with something totally different to realize that I could serve Him in useful, fulfilling ways, right where I was. I never want to forget this again.