I worked with Grace; Jane worked with her in her unique three-year-old way; and many people continued to pray. Soon I got to send them happy news, one of the most joyful messages I’ve ever sent.
March 9, 2009
Grace can walk.
She can’t walk very well, just a few steps with bent legs, but she can walk. Two weeks ago Grace came to our family and her grandmother explained to me that she was “lame.”
At two and a half years old she could not stand, walk, hold her spoon, or complete a sentence. I took her to a doctor who said she had “ascending paralysis,” meaning her legs were paralyzed and the rest of her would slowly become that way. Something didn’t resonate in my spirit, and being that these doctors have been wrong before, I (with all my medical knowledge) decided not to believe them. Where was the fun in that anyway?
We began stretching little Grace’s legs, helping her eat, cuddling her constantly, and covering her in prayer. Grace began pulling herself up on the furniture. She began to take a few steps holding on to my hands. Today she walked about ten steps alone before she had to sit down. Grace can hold her spoon, and although she makes quite a mess, she can feed herself. Grace laughs about thirteen out of the fourteen hours we are awake each day. And Grace can say a full sentence without stuttering: “I lub lou, Mommy.”
Grace’s sisters love her to pieces. When I was worried that she was pretty delayed, because she had some “special needs,” her sisters never saw anything different about her. They knew her only special need was love.
They stretch her little withered legs as she sits on their laps and help her not spill her juice everywhere. Jane, my only other child who does not go to school during the day, so desperately longs for Grace to play with her that she can often be found holding Grace’s hand and walking/dragging her everywhere she goes.
When Grace took her first steps, Jane was the one who pushed her to do more, prodded her to take one more step, and pulled her back to her feet when she fell. Those two are inseparable! They are “partners in crime” at times, but more than that, they are loving and devoted sisters, and Jane, even at her young age, is an amazing encourager for Grace. What a gift.
In a very short time, I have been able to watch God give back to Grace everything that was taken from her during the first two and a half years of her life. I have watched Him not only begin to restore her physically but to restore her spirit, her little heart that He so loves and desires intimacy with. He has reminded me how deeply He longs for each one of His children to know His intimate love. He has reminded me how He longs to restore our brokenness. He has reminded my girls what His love can do through their little hands. What’s most incredible is that I know He is not done yet but only getting started.
Lord, we give you our brokenness, that you may fully restore us. Remind us of the intimacy that you long for with each of us, your deep, passionate love for your children. Father, you have given so freely, you have loved so extravagantly. Let us give. Let us love.
I went from having children who were fairly independent to having one who could not go anywhere or do anything herself. I thought I had made huge adjustments before—just the task of preparing meals for and keeping up with homework of one more person sometimes seemed daunting in the past. Just the emotional adjustment of one more child, even a self-sufficient one, could be exhausting. This was something different altogether. It was a time of learning to rely even more completely on God, begging Him for even more strength, and watching Him do miracles in Grace’s body. Today, Grace can run. Her gait is still a bit awkward, but it’s adorable to see her moving quickly across the grass with her bright, determined smile. She can feed herself and use both hands; she can speak in complete sentences with her soft little voice; and like a typical preschooler, she does not like to take a bath! His grace is sufficient.
ONE DAY . . .
Monday, February 9, 2009
Yesterday was just one of those days that people with multiple children will understand, even if their children don’t number in the double digits. Christine has gone back to school, so it’s just me at home. I am so thankful that school has started because that gives me some quiet time in the morning to do the laundry, make lunch, and get a jump start on dinner, so I can be fairly calm when the chaos ensues later in the afternoon.
Anyway, yesterday the power had been out for almost seventy-two hours. Running water was shut off around two o’clock in the afternoon, just about the time the kids came home from school, meaning that none of my beautifully filthy children could get a bath. It was one of those days when everyone just seemed a little louder than usual, and no one wanted to listen or acknowledge anything I said.
It rained all day, making my firewood wet and impossible to use. (The power was still out, so the electric stove inside didn’t work, but I had one gas burner that did work). It was nearing 8:00 P.M. and dinner wasn’t ready. The big girls had gone to get water from a well so we could wash our feet because I can’t stand it when my kids get into clean sheets with dirty feet, and thirteen children were running around my house pretending to be zoo animals. I just had to close my eyes and laugh for a minute.
By eight thirty the beans were finally cooked and we were all sitting in a huge circle on the living room floor because we outgrew our table a long time ago! It was pitch-black in the house and our last candle had burned out, so we couldn’t see anyone. When I distributed the food and had a plate left over, I just assumed I had miscounted. And then I started asking Joyce a question. She didn’t answer.
“Joyce?”
No answer.
“Joyce?”
Total silence.
So I got up and went around the circle counting heads. Twelve. No Joyce. I yelled her name inside and outside, tripping and stumbling through the dark, still with no answer. The mom in me began to panic. I ran to check the bathtub even though I knew there couldn’t be water in it. I grabbed my phone to use as a light and ran around the compound. Nothing.
As Agnes went to check the garage, she tripped and fell. When I went to make sure she was okay, I tripped too—over Joyce’s legs! There she was, fast asleep and halfway under the kitchen table. We all fell to the floor in stitches!
That was God’s little gift to me yesterday. Not only an opportunity to sit on the floor and crack up with my children, but a little reminder of how much I love and value each of my children individually, even though there are so many of them. A reminder that even on days when they don’t listen and make so much noise that I want to pull out all my hair, I wouldn’t trade any one of them.
God reminded me that when even just one of His 6 billion plus children turns away from Him, He is saddened and seeks her out. He is the Shepherd who left His ninety-nine sheep to find just one, and rejoiced and laughed when He found it. He reminded me of the sorrow He must feel when I stray from Him, don’t trust Him, don’t ask Him, and the way He rejoices when I come back and lay at His feet.
Ten minutes later, the power came back on.
This morning I woke up at five o’clock to make breakfast for all thirteen children, double-checking the circle this time. When I was in the kitchen cooking the eggs, I kept thinking I smelled something rotten but didn’t think too much of it. When the kids left for school I went to investigate. Maybe it was the trash can? No, I cleaned and bleached that yesterday. Maybe it was the fridge? No, I cleaned that out already too.
I finally concluded that the smell seemed to be coming from behind the stove, so I pulled the stove out from the wall. I don’t know exactly how to describe this, but a very large rat had crawled up inside the back of the stove. All I could see was his long, thick tail and a clawed foot. I had cooked him (days ago, I assume), and he was totally rotten. The smell was enough to make me vomit. I put on my electrician hat, opened the back of the stove, threw up, and pulled the decaying rat piece by piece out of my stove.
Then I sprayed everything in my whole kitchen with bleach and poured the already made coffee back through th
e filter, because I’m going to need it a little stronger today.
I do not have anything eloquent or wise to say about the rat or what God taught me through it. It was just plain nasty. But I am sitting here laughing about it because I know that God has a gift for me today, a lesson for me today, someone’s heart for me to change. And if some rotten rats come with that, bring them on!
14
A DIFFERENT KIND OF EDUCATION
When I decided not to complete my college degree, some people said I wasn’t going to “finish my education.” They were terribly mistaken. Maybe I didn’t sit in lecture halls and listen to people with lots of initials after their names talk about their areas of expertise, but one thing I learned quickly was that following God is an education of its own.
What I was learning was that there is a lesson in everything, big or small.
One of the first things I learned is that God cares about my feelings, even the ones that don’t seem particularly spiritual. We had been experiencing extremely hot weather during January and February. Even though that time of year is supposedly the “rainy season,” the rain simply didn’t fall, and that made for extra-sticky, sweaty days. On one of these days when I was feeling especially nasty I pulled into a gas station. The attendant looked at me and exclaimed, “Wow! You are so beautiful; your skin is glowing!”
“Ha! It’s sweat,” was my unconvinced reply.
“You have some really beautiful sweat,” she said as we pulled away.
When you live in Africa, or maybe when you are the mom of thirteen children, moments when you actually feel beautiful are in short supply. I feel on many days that I am radiating God’s love, but there are few days that I actually think I look radiant. Not that God cares what I look like, but as a human and as a woman, sometimes I do wish to look nice.
Lesson: God cares about my feelings, even the petty ones like wanting to look pretty, so He has someone tell me that my sweat is beautiful. Really, God has created and clothed the lilies of the fields, how much more will He take care of me? Through this dear woman at the gas station God reminded me how beautiful we all are to Him, after all, we were created in His own image. And He looks at me, at you, in all our sweat and dirt and brokenness, and says, “I choose you. You are beautiful.”
Later that week, my sweet daughter Margaret, one of the gentlest and humblest of all my children, beat up our neighbor, who happens to be one of her best friends. I was making lunch when Olivia, the little girl, and her mother came to the gate.
The woman started shouting “Your daughter punched my daughter!” and then she turned and went home, leaving Olivia in our yard. I called Margaret, Agnes, and Hellen (all were accused of being involved) into the yard. As we spoke with Olivia, the whole story came out.
Olivia had been making fun of Agnes and Hellen for having a white mother. Her exact words were, “Your mom is white so you eat fish. You are going to get fat!” (At this point I walked away from our circle, pretending to be seriously upset, but actually resisting the urge to laugh at this nonsensical comment.)
After I composed myself I came back and explained to Olivia that since these girls were her friends, and since Jesus wants us to love our friends and even our enemies, she needs to be careful to choose kind words. I explained to my children that no matter what people say to them, as long as they are not being physically hurt, they must not hit their friends. We had a group hug and invited Olivia in for lunch. Ironically, we were having fish.
After Olivia left, our whole family had a talk about how we are all going to have to endure some teasing because of our family. Children often make mean comments to my daughters about having a white mother. I explained to them that in America, and in Uganda, people often say ignorant and rude things to me because I have many children from many different tribes and cultures. We talked about how we have a choice: We can live together as a family and sometimes hear rude remarks that we ignore, or we cannot live together as a family and then we won’t have to hear the mean words. Of course, this really is no choice at all; we choose our family, our family from many different tribes and cultures and countries and colors. Sometimes it’s tough, but we wouldn’t trade it.
Lesson: Jesus knows that we are a family, a real family. And He doesn’t see the colors of our skin. Besides, in heaven I am going to be black; I have already asked God for it.
Another lesson: Parenting is sometimes tough. Parenting is almost always hilarious.
My daughter Sumini once invited a woman most people consider our local lunatic to her birthday party. The woman’s name is Jja Ja Nakibuuka and she had something to teach me. She is the village leper. Her fingers and toes are missing. Everyone in the village thinks she is crazy because she burned down her house in order to live in the bush. She has no possessions but lives completely on the land, by faith. My children often take her food and small gifts. Every time she sees us, she has one thing to say: “God is good and He is coming back.” She says it over and over: “God is good and He is coming back.” She believes it, and she lives it. She has nothing on this earth, she is fully prepared for Jesus to come and take her home. And they call her crazy.
If this woman is crazy, I think perhaps we could all benefit from being a little crazier. As I pray for Jja Ja Nakibuuka, I ask God often why He doesn’t heal her wounds; I know He can. Today it hit me. My faulty, shaky faith has to sometimes see it. I need to see the lame walk. Jja Ja Nakibuuka doesn’t need a miracle, because she already knows. God loves me enough and desires my heart enough to help me see; Jja Ja Nakibuuka already sees. Her body may be broken, but her heart is full. Jesus says, “Because you have seen me, you have believed; blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed” (John 20:19).
Lesson: Open your eyes. God is good and He is coming back.
One of the simplest lessons I was learning was that almost anything, or anyone, can be a teacher on some level. I even learned from Céline Dion.
I was missing my boyfriend terribly and, undoubtedly, this was Céline Dion’s fault. Thanks to our wonderful friends and donors, Amazima Ministries purchased a van, which was such a blessing to us. When we got it, we were able to distribute more than eighteen hundred pounds of food to more than fifteen hundred children every week. It became a great teaching tool when learning the story of the loaves and fishes. The van also enabled our family to all go to church together, which was truly wonderful.
Céline Dion is extremely popular in Africa. In the town of Jinja, she can always be heard coming from one market stand’s radio or another. In the van, Céline was constantly on one of the only two radio stations we received, and we often came upon a Céline Dion marathon, when they played what seemed to be every song she ever recorded.
Don’t get me wrong; I appreciate and enjoy some good Céline. I love to crank it up loud and sing it all the way to town with Grace and Jane dancing in the back. I guess when I first started hearing Céline Dion songs when I was about eight years old, though, I did not realize that she is always singing about someone she is so desperately in love with. She has such longing, such agony as she is away from her lover. When I heard these songs in Uganda, they did usually make me miss having a boyfriend to cuddle.
But once again, even in this little thing I tried to see the lesson. I think the way Céline Dion feels about her lover is the way God must feel about the church, which seems in some ways to have strayed so far from Him. I think He allowed me to really miss my boyfriend so I could catch a tiny glimpse of what His heart must feel as the church strays into religion and away from the things that are so important to Him, like the impoverished, unwanted people of the world. How He longs and desires for my heart, each and every minute of each and every day.
Lesson: Everything can teach you something. God so deeply, passionately, desperately loves us. He so intensely longs for His lover, the church, to come back to His teachings of giving everything we have to serve the poor, of living in community. He wants to woo us, each one of us, as we are the body
who make up the church. I am still trying to get there, and it makes me feel special to know that He sings over me even more passionately than Céline Dion. That is pretty wonderful.
During this same time, I was also becoming more keenly aware than ever of the spiritual battle that raged around me. I went to visit some friends in a nearby village. One of them was weeping when I arrived. When I asked what was wrong, she told me a horrific story of how her neighbor had killed his stepson, cut off his head, and sold it to the witch doctor for a little more than $100. We cried together. This woman, who was not a Christian a few months earlier, pulled out her Bible and told me how thankful she was that God had moved her children so that they did not have to witness this.
Lesson: Satan is not a fan of Christ’s winning this beautiful nation. Christ will win anyway. In fact, He’s winning every single day—and that is the best lesson of all.
As much as I was learning about God and other people, I was also learning some things about myself, and some of the lessons were painful. As many people do, I dreamed of bigger and better things at times; sometimes I dreamed about them too much. I justified my dreaming by saying all these things would be used for the children. For example, our house became way too small for Friday night sleepovers, so I dreamed of a bigger and better house—a large house with separate rooms for my big girls and my small girls and a big wraparound porch. Christine and I often talked about the new, bigger house, where a table big enough for all of my family would fit comfortably and we would not have to sit on the floor to eat, a house in which our kitchen would be more than ten feet by fifteen feet, big enough for more than two people to stand in and help cook.
Kisses from Katie Page 15
