A week ago I left the place where “flashing” means letting the
phone ring a few times then hanging up, an “it’s okay” response to a yes or no
question means yes, and chickens & babies crawl over the office floors.
Where being an auntie has nothing to do with blood relation,
becoming a country director makes you a Mama to many, and where when I see
something scurrying out of the corner of my eye in my house it can only be 1 of
3 things: a lizard, cockroach, or GusGus (the universal name for our unwanted mice).
Where my boda ride home at the end of the day is a form of
detox, the Aristocrats tune is sang, “evvrray
bahday… evvrray bahday… evvrray bahday wahhs to bee a cahh” by 17 of the most precious
voices, and an acceptable answer to the interview question, “choose 3 words to describe
yourself” is “short, black, and beautiful.”
While it was unbearably hard to leave, it was worth every
bit. He
knew what He was doing when He asked me to go to Uganda. The fact that
it felt like a part of my heart was being ripped out of me is proof that He
knew what He was doing. And He still knows what He is doing having
me leave.
I had absolutely no idea how much I would fall in love with
the place and these people. Evidence: see blogs from the beginning. Confession:
it used to give me peace to count the months until I was going home, and now
I’m praying He gives me the means to
come back and visit. Mission work is not glamorous by ANY means. But the
relationships I’ve built in Uganda have enlarged my heart and opened it to love
more. Not because of anything I’ve done, but it’s like these people (the women,
girls, staff, volunteers) have attached a piece of them on to my heart – making
it all types of swole.
As much as I loved the smooth and good parts of my time there, my season or growth wouldn't have been as colorful or deep with out the rough patches. And let me tell you... there were definitely some hot tears shed, with a range of reason.
One day I found myself yelling at a slammed door at the girls home with little
Jackie on the other side who was exhibiting completely unacceptable behavior.
That little one knew just how to push my buttons and enjoyed doing it. I felt
helpless and inadequate –
hot tears came.
Trying to get a type of certificate for Zion Project from Kampala I was sent in circles, pushed off to other people, and told about 12 different conflicting ideas about the ‘way it worked’. I did my best to hold it back, but even in their office they leaked out…
hot tears.
While our social worker was briefing me on her one on one sessions with the girls, my fury level shot
through the roof. They were telling her things that happened to them in the
past, things I’ve read before. But this time they were retelling it and reliving the pain to receive
healing.
And again they came...
the hot tears.
After hearing that one my friends’ friends was now in a
relationship in the states an uncontrollable amount of jealousy filled me. I
didn’t even know the chick! Wasn’t even upset at her. Reminder: me - single
girl in Uganda. Likelihood and priority of finding prince Charming… both low. But that
just opened up a whole can of doubt I didn’t know I had for the Lord; beyond my
relationship status. I hopped on the boda to work that morning with
hot tears
flying off my cheeks.
After a staff meeting, being overwhelmed with the 27 things
to do – 13 of which I had no idea how to do – a deep breath felt like a
novelty. Walked into my office, shut the door, sunk in my chair, buried my head
in my arms and all in a wave,
hot tears.
Sharing with the women during my surprise going away lunch
party holding back hot tears… saying goodbye to the girls and letting those
hot tears stroll down.
heavy feelings. unchangeable growth. all part of His plan.
I wasn’t prepared for my emotions when it actually sunk it
that I was leaving. I think it hit me as I was on the bus down to Kampala. From
that point up until I fell asleep in England at my dad’s I was fighting back hot
tears. People must have thought I was crazy standing in the line at
immigration at Heathrow. One minute I’m fine, and the next I’m pink in the face with tears
welling up and a clenched jaw trying to fight them back. Dad got a warm welcome with tears, that’s for
sure!
When I left for Uganda, it was as
if I was jumping from low bar to high bar (in gymnastics). I had to leap up and
grip on to this new season. There was no hold on the other bar anymore. I became vulnerable without my comfort cloth of my own culture and sewed myself into Uganda's. And
now, after strengthening my grip on the high bar and swinging around for a bit, I’m being asked to fly right
back down. Jumping from one world to the other.
