His Hope Uganda

AWESOME LIFE – September 2011

Happy fall everyone,

I feel the need to say that I am starting this email off with a great big sigh. It is a sigh of a whole bunch of things mixed into one, including disbelief, relief, exhaustion, and an incredible sense of awe about what has happened here in the past two months. I have been wanting to write for a few weeks but just haven’t had the time or the right words but I am praying that God will give me both today. Knowing that, I will warn you that this could very well be the longest email yet.

A few months ago my sister sent me a package in the mail. Inside the package were some things that made my day, including a bunch of Snickers peanut butter bars (whoever thought of putting peanut in Snickers bars is my new hero) and a book called “The Book of Awesome” by Neil Pasricha. You may or may not have heard about this book, but if you haven’t read it I would highly recommend it. It is basically a book full of little things in everyday life that are awesome that we can either choose to acknowledge or brush off (some examples include tripping and realizing no one saw you, picking the perfect nacho off someone else’s plate, successfully moving all your clothes from the washer to the dryer without dropping anything, and remembering what movie that guy is from).

I can’t tell you how much I loved reading the book (and its sequel, “The Book of Even More Awesome”), not only because it was light and entertaining reading, but also because it made me think that maybe I’m not as crazy as I thought I was. There are other people in the world (or at least one) who think the way I do, which is either really reassuring or really scary depending on how you look at it. It was so exciting to relate to the feeling I get when all the awesome things in the book happen to me. The only problem was that because many of the awesome things involve things that I no longer experience in my day to day life (like pizza and other delicious foods, driving, home appliances, and snow), the book kind of left me longing for the luxuries of North America I left behind (and it usually left me really hungry).

So, I decided that I would make my own list of awesome things, Ugandan style, to share with all of you.

1. Hearing the soft hum of the refrigerator.

We have officially been without power for five and a half weeks now. For a month before the power went out completely, we were only getting power every second night. About a week into our outage, when I accepted the fact that it would likely be a while before power came back, I decided that to save my insulin it would be a good idea to move our fridge to Auntie Christine’s place, which is only a five minute walk down the road. So, we’re now not only powerless but also fridgeless, which makes me look even more forward to that AWESOME day when the power will come back and I will be able to walk into the kitchen and hear that soft, sweet hum that I love so much, the one that represents not only cold water and cold insulin, but also luxuries like light, the kettle, and even the toaster. The possibilities are endless.

2. When my clothes all dry before the end of the day.

I have what some people (everyone who lives with me) would call an obsession (actually they think it’s a sickness) with making sure that my clothes dry during the day. Starting about two hours after I hang them on the line in the morning, I begin checking them about every ten minutes to see how the drying is progressing and flipping them over to speed up the process. Sometimes I literally just sit and watch them dry, waiting for the moment that I can justifiably turn them over on the line. Most days, because of my expertise, I can happily fold them and put them away before the sun goes down but there are occasions when the rain or lack of sunshine ruins my happiness. These days are more frequent now that rainy season has begun. I find myself washing in the morning, knowing that I am taking a big risk, and then stressing out when it starts raining and lying in bed awake all night thinking about my clothes still hanging on the line. I still remember the dreadful day that we washed all the sheets in the morning and then it rained all day and we had no choice but to sleep in wet sheets at night. It was a long, cold night. So, when the sun comes out on cue and things dry properly, it is an awesome day.

3. When I kill a mosquito.

Granted, one out of the one billion that live in our house doesn’t seem like much on the grand scale of things. But knowing that there’s one less in the world, probably one that had already feasted on my blood or someone else’s and caused days of itchy torture or even sickness, sure feels like sweet revenge and satisfaction in that moment of my hand squishing it’s tiny body. It feels awesome.

4. Free food.

This one is pretty self explanatory. Everybody loves free things. Almost everybody loves food. Put the two together and you get something pretty awesome. Feeding multitudes of children every week ain’t cheap (but it’s worth it), so when some of those children happen to bring food from their homes and gardens for us, it is always a wonderful moment. Depending on the season, it can be corn, avocado, jack fruit, peanuts, spinach, mangoes (my all time favourite season), matooke, potatoes, beans, or sugar cane. But whatever it might be, it’s guaranteed to be awesome.

5. Warm water.

We don’t have hot water at home so anytime I get the chance to stay at a hotel and score a hot shower, the moment is always glorious. Early morning bathing at home is never fun, especially when it’s rained all night, because the water comes out icy enough to make me cry sometimes (I always tell myself that it’s good because it’s “refreshing”). But there are days that if I wait long enough to bathe (which is too bad for everyone who has to smell me all day) and the sun is shining bright, that the sun warms the pipes and I can actually get half a bucket of hot water from the tap in my tub. And that’s always awesome because then I get to be clean AND warm.

6. When I look in Clooney’s room in the morning and see that she hasn’t pooped overnight.

Yes, Clooney has her own room. It’s actually quite big too. When she stays in it too long, like on rainy days or busy days or days when I’m just a really bad mother, she can make quite a mess. Which is why not having to pick up poop in the morning is such a nice, awesome moment.

7. Sweet sweet samosas.

Because of a lack of breakfast foods in Uganda, when I don’t eat a granola bar in the morning, I have no other choice but to eat something 100% deep fried. My guilty pleasure and unhealthy addiction has become samosas, fried at our local neighbourhood food stands. I used to hate them and then one day I just decided to love them and now I have a growing stomach to prove it. The problem with samosas, and any other food bought at a street stand, is that they are always hit or miss – wonderfully delicious or really disgusting – depending on the day. There’s always a tense moment right before I bite into that crispy corner of a triangular pea filled sac, and then an absolutely awesome moment of relief and excitement if it’s a good one (followed by me giving a kid money to go and buy ten more). Mmmmm . . .

8. Mondays! (Yes, I said MONDAYS)

I have a feeling that if I started a club for people who think Mondays are awesome, there wouldn’t be a lot of members. But in my life, weekends are always a busy, dirty, loud, stressful time because our house fills up with a lot of busy, dirty, and loud children who tend to stress me out. Yes, I love them and I love having them around and seeing them laughing and laughing with them. But I also love it when they leave. Then I can enjoy some peace and quiet and even a little bit of clean for a day. Mondays are usually officially awesome because I get to go back to bed after my girls leave for school in the morning and enjoy a few uninterrupted hours of rest or reading, followed by a good morning of turning up my iPod and cleaning. Oh, the sweet, awesome smell of clean. The sweet, awesome feeling of having the house to myself. And the sweet, awesome sound of absolute peace and quiet. Thank you, Mondays.

9. Writing a “to do” list and then actually getting the things on the list done.

I love “to do” lists because they make me feel organized. But I am the person, also known as master procrastinator, who makes lists of important things to do and then instead of doing the things on the list, I just do anything else and then add it to the list so just so that I can put a check mark beside it and make it look like I did something productive. For example, at the beginning of the day my list might say something like “do child expenses” and “finish thank yous”. Then, at the end of the day if those things will not be checked off but I will have added “paint toes” and “cut fingernails” to the bottom and they’ll have big checkmarks beside them. That’s why, when I actually do get to check things off my “to do” list (the original one), it’s an awesome moment.

10. Free hugs.

I love hugs, especially from my children. But they seem to know that and are always the last ones who are willing to give them to me. In fact, I actually try and beg or bribe hugs from them at least once or twice a day, often unsuccessfully. Which is why, on the rare occasions when one of my kids just comes up to me and offers a freebie, it feels so incredibly awesome.

Other awesome things that didn’t quite make the list include eating any food that isn’t Ugandan (the unhealthier the better), getting personal emails from long lost friends (hint, hint), and the generator that we bought a few weeks ago which allows me to use my laptop and see at night.

It’s also fun to find awesome things in the midst of things that are not at all awesome, because it makes unfunny things funny.

For example, a few months ago I was very surprised and creeped out to find a mushroom growing out of my wall. Since then, we’ve all been somewhat mortified to find more mushrooms in the hallway and my room, as well as spots of green, black, and orange mould growing on our ceiling in the living room. It seems our house has become the target of things a lot more unwelcome than cockroaches and mice. And although I realize that this is potentially quite serious and harmful, I have to say that it is nice (even awesome) to be able to use mould as an excuse for losing my mind, which I’ve been showing a lot of signs of recently.

Last month I went to the post office to mail a bunch of thank yous, which had taken me way too long to get done. After I finished I went to check my mailbox, which is outside in a long corridor. I remember being really excited about getting the thank yous done and I think I may have actually been skipping, probably feeling more proud than I should have. I went down the corridor to check my box, only to find that the number on my box had been changed and my key didn’t fit. Confused, I went back to the desk asking if they had changed the boxes and explaining that someone had painted a “100” in front of the usual “5” on the front of my box and telling the woman that my key no longer worked. The woman just looked at me like I had three heads and told me she was going to get someone else. As I started telling my story to another man, the dim light bulb in my head finally came on and I realized that I had very likely been in the wrong place, checking someone else’s box. You probably figured that out a long time ago but it didn’t dawn on me until the damage was done. Ashamed, I just said, “Uh, actually, it’s okay, bye” and ran out of there as fast as I could. Then I went to check my real box, which was still in the same place it had always been.

Then last week I went to take money out at the bank only to discover standing at the machine that my bank card was not in its usual place in my wallet. I went back to the car in a half panicked, completely frazzled state and I was looking through the car while telling Uncle Eman how stupid I am when a bank employee came up behind me and politely told me that I had left my card in the machine a few days before (which I have never done in my life) and she had it. Relieved but embarrassed, I followed her into the bank and while she took out the book I had to sign, she was saying something that I wasn’t quite getting and then she asked me a question. I replied with an awkward laugh and I think I said, “Oh, no thank you, it’s okay”. She looked at me with the familiar look I had gotten at the post office a few weeks before and I realized that she had asked me why I had left my card in the machine.

This is where the awesome part comes in. I can justifiably (almost) use mould as an excuse for my going crazy. If there was no mould, people might just figure out that I’m crazy all on my own and that might look bad. Phew.

Of course, another reason for my recent mental lapses may be stress and the simple fact that I’ve been overwhelmed and distracted because the past two months have been the most challenging of my life.

Yeah, that could be it too.

As you all know, one of the schools that we have been working with, Peter’s, has been having problems with witchcraft and demons for the past couple of months. Several children have been attacked by demons and a lot of scary things have been happening at the school. What I may not have mentioned in the past is that one of our children, my 17-year old son John, was one of the children who was attacked at school. I was warned not to bring him home because it might bring the demons into our house but I honestly thought nothing of it because I didn’t feel afraid. Since first being attacked in May, John had been home most weekends and we had never seen any evidence of what was happening at school.

But five weeks ago that changed. The power was out and we had just finished eating supper and were sitting outside in our courtyard area. Our nightly routine is to eat, do the dishes, and then pray together. So we finished praying and were going inside when we noticed that something was wrong with Johnny. He was sitting in his chair breathing very heavily and he wouldn’t respond when we called his name. The girls told me that the “ghosts” had caught him but I didn’t know what to do so we all went inside. We were sitting in the girl’s room together when we saw Johnny walk by very slowly. We could still hear him breathing. Afraid, I closed the door. Seconds later he burst in. I was standing behind the door and all I could see was the look of terror on Kristy’s face as he entered the room. I have never been more terrified in my life than I was in that moment. He took our lights and smashed them and then ordered us to go into the hallway, where it was pitch black.

As I stood in the hallway, I could feel my heart pounding. I couldn’t see anything and I didn’t know where John was or where any of the other kids were. So I did the only thing that I could. I prayed.

After a few minutes, John opened the door to the kitchen and I felt my fear subside a little at the sight of light coming from outside. When he ordered us to go out into the courtyard, I was thankful because I knew we would at least be able to see. It was at this moment that I realized that my fear had gone. I could still feel my heart pounding but I knew that it was no longer because of fear. I could feel the Spirit of God rushing through me, filling me with courage.  It was a feeling that I haven’t felt many times in my life but one that was unmistakable.

John told us to sit, so we sat. Then he stood in front of us and just spoke quietly, ordering Betty to get him water and then throwing the cup against the wall when it wasn’t what he wanted. He paced around looking at us as we sat there, obeying his every command. The dog was going crazy, obviously aware that something wasn’t right and at one point I thought that John was going to kill her. Instead, he walked up to her window and pointed his finger at her and she stopped barking.

The entire time we were outside, I could hear God telling me what He wanted me to do. I could hear His voice telling me to do one thing – stand up. God was asking me to stand up and say His name. But I kept telling God that if He wanted me to stand up then He would just make me do it. I kept trying to convince myself that I wouldn’t have to do anything because God would eventually just do it for me. And so, I didn’t stand up. I didn’t obey. I did nothing.

All God was asking from me was a simple step of faith. He wasn’t asking me to face a giant with a stone, or to free a nation from slavery, or face a den full of lions. He was just asking me to stand up. And I failed. I let fear silence me.

I know that God wanted to do something amazing through me in that moment, something that would have proven His power to every person in our house, including me. I know that if I had stood up, He would have given me the words and the strength I needed. And I know, without a doubt, that if I had stood up, this story would have had an incredible ending. We would have all been amazed at God’s power and protection. Instead, things only got worse.

Eventually Johnny sat down again and after a few minutes of silence he looked up at us and asked what we were all doing. He had no idea what had happened, but he was fine.

We didn’t know what to do so we kind of laughed about it and I phoned my parents and Auntie Christine, who said that she would come over. When she got here, we decided that it would be a good idea to pray so we all sat in a circle and started praying (there were thirteen girls sleeping here that night). As soon as we started praying, it happened again. This time, Johnny seemed more violent.

Auntie Christine ran to the neighbour’s house and Johnny chased her. We heard him banging on the neighbour’s door repeatedly and then heard screaming. Auntie Christine came back and said that he was trying to break down their door. We decided it would be best to lock him out of the house, so we padlocked the outer gate and stood in the courtyard, waiting. He came back and demanded we open the door and when we didn’t respond, he started throwing bricks onto the roof and over the wall. Afraid, we went inside.

I didn’t think he would be able to get into the courtyard but he jumped over the wall and within minutes he was trying to break down our kitchen door. We decided to run.

We ran out the front door and down the road, sure that he would catch us at some point but not knowing what else to do. By this time it was past midnight. We finally reached Auntie Christine’s place and all piled inside. We phoned Auntie Annet and she told us that she was coming with the police. While we sat waiting, John phoned us and sent us several messages telling us to open the door because he was fine. But we didn’t believe him.

The police finally came and we went home. I knew it had been a bad idea to phone the police but people kept telling me that it would be best if they took John. When they saw him, they grabbed him and fought with him like he was a criminal and it tore my heart to pieces. By then he was fine (no demons) and he was screaming and crying, begging me to help him. I tried but it was too late. We went to the police station in town, where he was questioned and then nothing really happened and we went back home. By then John was so angry at me that I was more afraid of him than I was of the demons. I told him that he couldn’t sleep in the house but that he had to sleep in the car outside. He started throwing rocks at me.

We spent the rest of the night just waiting for him to try and break in again, but he didn’t.

The next morning I was sitting on my bed in my room when the door flew open, revealing my very angry son. He threatened me and threatened all of us for what we had done (phoning the police) and then left. I followed, begging him to listen to me and trying to explain but he would not listen. Later in the morning it appeared that the demons attacked him again (I realized later that he was probably only pretending) and he rounded us up forcefully and went into the kitchen and removed the biggest knife he could find. Then he just stood, holding it, looking at us. There was some commotion outside and he went to see what it was but he never came back.

The neighbours and people from our church next door had heard what was going on and had come over. Somehow they managed to tackle him to the ground and when I went outside I found them sitting on him and trying to tie him up, while shouting prayers over him in Jesus’ name. My heart shattered again.

Eventually Johnny’s aunt came and picked him up and took him back to her home. He left but our fear remained and when the power didn’t come back we went to a hotel for the night.

I spent the next week terrified, confused, ashamed, heart broken, and completely shaken. I spent hours in my room in tears. I cried for my son that I thought might be lost forever. I cried because I knew that I had failed God and failed my children. I cried because I was afraid and I was lost and I was hurting more than I ever had before.

I was afraid that John would come back and try and hurt us. I was afraid to pray because both times something had happened it had been when we were praying. I was afraid that I had failed God to the point where He wouldn’t be able to use me again, but at the same time I was afraid that He would and then I would have to go through the same thing all over again.

But my biggest fear was that I would fail again. And I knew that I wouldn’t be able to handle it.

I would start to pray and I would be lost for words, so I would just end up crying. But God heard me. He listened. And He forgave me.

When I was thirteen years old and going through my rebellious stage, there was one night that I was being so violent with my parents that they had to phone the police. I will remember that night for as long as I live because it was the night that, through what I thought was an act of hatred on my parent’s side, God used to change the direction of my life. At the time, I couldn’t believe they had done it and I was more angry at them than I ever have been, but now I am so thankful that they did what they did.

Although John’s case was different, because he was actually innocent, I could understand his anger toward me. And it was scary because I knew he might never forgive me.

Over the past four and a half years, my relationship with John hasn’t always been easy and I’ve never been as close to him as I’ve wanted to be. He’s always been closed off to everyone around him. But over the past few months, he has started to open up to me more and we’ve been getting closer. He even bought me a gift in July that said “I love you my mum” which is the best gift I’ve ever received.

Thinking that I would lose him after how far we had come and how much our relationship had been growing was so difficult to understand and accept.

I finally gave John to God because I had no other choice. I didn’t know how to reach him or how to help him so I let him go. And I prayed and prayed and prayed for him.

The week after everything happened was an awful week. I felt uncomfortable even after my fear started to subside and I wasn’t able to do anything productive, even bathing seemed like a big task. Kristy felt the same and we knew that we had to get out of the house for a while. But part of the problem was that we had the kids at the time because it was the school holiday and we didn’t know where we could go.

On Thursday we went into Kampala to meet a friend of ours from Cranbrook who runs an organization in Entebbe. I rarely see her because she’s so busy and far away but she had heard what had been happening and gotten in touch with me. We agreed to meet in Kampala for lunch.

We had a great talk and by time lunch was over she had made arrangements for us to spend the next week in Entebbe at a camp near her place. Their organization had a team from England there and they were running a week long program for children. We would be able to take all our kids there for the week and they had arranged our all accommodation and food while we ate lunch.

What an amazing answer to prayer, one that I am still in awe of. God had it planned the whole time.

That Sunday we took 33 children to Entebbe for the week. It was an amazing week. The kids had a great time singing, swimming, playing, making crafts, and eating (it was the only week in my entire Ugandan residency that I didn’t eat any beans). Two of our girls accepted Christ and every day the kids learned about who God is and how much He loves us. Kristy and I had a great time too, even though “relaxing” isn’t exactly the word we could use to describe it because looking after 33 rowdy ten to sixteen year olds isn’t exactly relaxing. But I was able to spend some time at the lake alone, just taking in God’s creation and resting in Him. And Kristy’s health miraculously improved and by mid week she was feeling almost 100% better.

Halfway through the week I got an unexpected text message from John, saying that he had been reading his Bible and that he knew that he had to forgive me. And that he loved me. God had answered prayer again, in such an incredible way.

But halfway through the week we also got an unexpected phone call from my parents, saying that a really close friend of Kristy’s, someone that Kristy had known since she was three years old and considered a sister, had been in a serious car accident. She had passed away at only seventeen years old.

The news was shocking and obviously devastating for Kristy. She decided that she needed to go back to Canada for a while and we all felt it was the right thing to do. So, after taking the children to Kampala for bowling on Saturday, she went back to Entebbe and flew out the following morning.

Kristy is definitely missed but we know that she is where she is meant to be right now because she needs time to grieve and especially to heal. I also know that I would not have been able to make it without her being here when she was. I’m so incredibly thankful that she was here through all of what happened because she was such a source of strength and encouragement and much needed wisdom.

The weeks after coming back from camp went by fairly quickly, especially because we were preparing for the kids to go back to school. And just when things started to feel comfortable again, another thing happened that left me shattered.

I’m not sure if you all know my history in Uganda but I’ve been here on and off now for four and a half years. There were nine children in an orphanage that I originally lived in and worked at that I got to know really well and who were actually the reason that I originally came back to Uganda (really long story, definitely not for this email). Since moving here two and a half years ago, eight of those nine children have been living with me most of the time but not all of the time. I consider them “my” children because I can’t explain how much I love them except to say that it must be how a mother loves her children. When I refer to Johnny as “my son” it is because, to me, he is.

Of the eight children, there is one girl, Gloria, who has been living with me since I moved here. She still has both of her parents but they are both alcoholics and she was living in a very unsafe environment when I moved here. She was raised by her grandmother, who passed away five years ago, after which she went to live in the orphanage and then briefly with her mother until I came back. Since then, I’ve been the one raising her. She is fifteen years old and reminds me of me when I was fifteen years old. I have a connection with her that I don’t share with any of my other kids, or with anyone else in the world, one that I can’t explain or even understand sometimes.

She has always struggled with self esteem and has an attitude that many people take the wrong way. Because of that, she doesn’t have a lot of friends.

We fight like mothers and teenage daughters are supposed to fight, often and bad. But for the past month, she had been really good, to the point where I was getting suspicious. Last Friday, two days before school started, she came into my room and asked if she could go and visit her friend. I told her that she could go after lunch and she promised to be home by five. Usually when she goes to visit her friend she comes home late, so when she wasn’t home by five I didn’t think anything of it. But by 7:30, after it was dark, I started to get worried. So I went to see her friend.

Not only was her friend not there, I found out that her friend had not been there for weeks, meaning that Gloria had been lying to me every time she told me she was going to see her friend. As soon as I heard that, I literally felt my heart break inside my chest because I knew that she had run away. As soon as I realized it, I knew that God was telling me I needed to let her go.

She had always threatened to run away but only when she was angry at me. When she left on Friday, she was in a great mood, which is why I never saw it coming. And which is part of the reason it hurt so much.

She had told me the week before that she was tired of all the girls that we had had staying at our house. They had all been gossiping about her and it was very unlike her to tell me that she actually cared, but she did. And I was too busy to listen so I brushed it off. But it was bad enough to make her leave.

We went to every person she knew and nobody had seen her. She was gone. I didn’t know where she was. I didn’t know if she was hurt. I didn’t know if she was safe. I didn’t even know if she was alive.

Nobody at home seemed to care that she had run away. Even her mother wasn’t concerned when I phoned and told her. They all actually found it kind of entertaining, basically saying it was no surprise and that it was her own fault so why should I worry. I know that they love her and that they were worried but they couldn’t show it, which made it all the worse for me. I was told to “be strong”, which is what I’m told every time I show emotion. So I left. I went to a hotel for the night, where I knew that I could cry in peace.

And that is what I did. I didn’t sleep. I didn’t eat. I just cried. I tried willing her to phone so that I would know she was okay. But she couldn’t hear me and she didn’t phone.

The next morning we tried looking for her again and still couldn’t find her. I was sure that she wouldn’t be home for at least a few days. For a while I felt some peace, convincing myself that no news was good news because if she was dead somewhere we would have heard about it.

Then, at about four in the afternoon, it hit me that I might never see her again in my life. She could be gone. I broke down.  I cried harder than I have ever cried in my life. I was lying on the floor of my hotel room sobbing, with my Bible hugged to my chest because I knew that even though I couldn’t read it, it would bring me comfort.

I told God that I couldn’t bear to lose her like this. I wouldn’t be able to survive if I never knew what happened to her and I wasn’t ready to let her go. Not this way.

I longed for someone to hug me and someone to tell me it was going to be okay but I realized that the only people who I could depend on were few and too far away. At one point I even hoped that a stranger would hear me crying and knock on my door and give me a hug. But I was alone. More alone than I have ever felt in my entire life.

And that is where I needed to be because in that moment, I realized how desperate I was for God. I realized how much I needed Him. I realized that there was nobody else who could comfort me and be there for me but Him. And I realized that He was enough.

I also realized that He was probably the only one who knew where my daughter was and I knew that He loved her even more than I did and that wherever she was, He was with her. Where I couldn’t be, He was. What I couldn’t tell her, He could. What I didn’t know, he did. And when I couldn’t protect her, He would. So I let her go.

I was filled with peace, knowing that even though I didn’t think I would survive if something had happened to her, I would.

And at the moment that I was giving her to God, He was bringing her home.

She was passing by our house at about six in the evening, not planning to come home but on her way somewhere else, when a boy from our program saw her walking down the road and told Johnny, who convinced her to come home. When I asked her why she walked by our house when she didn’t want to come home she said she didn’t know. But I did.

In the thirty hours that she was gone, the worst thirty hours of my life, the person who was more encouraging and supportive and concerned than anyone else here was Johnny. He phoned me several times to tell me that she would come home and that it would be okay. He went home to help look for her and he is the one who was able to bring her home.

This is my life. It isn’t an easy life but I am reminded every time we face struggles that I am being persecuted for Christ, which is a blessing and an honour.

Every time I feel like I can’t go on, God gives me the strength to not only get through but to get through stronger and wiser. He has taught me, through all we’ve been through this year, that when I put my trust in other things or other people, they will fail me. But He never will.

When Johnny was oppressed by demons that night, everything that I thought I could depend on failed. Our security guard couldn’t do anything. Our neighbours, who must have heard what was going on when he was throwing bricks and banging down doors, did nothing. Our doors and gates failed. The people who passed us running down the road like crazy people in the middle of the night didn’t stop to help. And the police, who charged us a ridiculous amount of money and who were not going to come because they didn’t have any transport (we had to pay for their car rental to come out here), were the most ineffective of all.

God was all we had left. But He was all we needed to begin with.

When Gloria ran away from home, I was so humbled. I thought that I had been doing such a good job and was proud of myself in a way, but my pride came crashing down when I realized one thing – I was not enough for her. I thought I could love her enough, so much that my love would be all she ever needed. But I was so wrong in thinking that, in holding on to her when she’s not really mine to hold on to. God is the only One who will ever be enough for her. He is the only one who will ever be enough for Johnny and for all the rest of my kids. It’s my job to teach them that and show them that and pray that they know it.

I have let go of them once but I know it’s something that I have to continue to do, every day.

Please pray for Johnny. There is a pastor that we know who we want to pray for Johnny but he has been out of the country and sick and it hasn’t yet worked out. I think there is a reason for this even though I don’t understand it. At this point, it seems like Johnny is against the idea of getting prayed for, maybe because of pride or because he doesn’t realize the seriousness of the situation. Please pray that God continues to work in his heart. Pray that Johnny draws nearer to God through this. Also pray for his protection, and for the protection of all the kids at school. Pray that God’s glory would be seen not only at the school but also in the entire village.

Please pray for Kristy. Pray for continued peace and comfort for her and the Friesen family as they go through this difficult time. Also pray for complete healing for Kristy and that she will get the rest that she needs while she’s in Canada. Pray that she will know when she is supposed to come back to Uganda and feel peace about the decision.

Please pray for the three girls who have recently accepted Christ, Sophia, Gloria (not mine, a different one), and Naume. Pray that they will continue to seek God every day and grow in Him and that they would be lights to their friends and Muslim families. Also continue to pray for all the kids and families in our program, that they would see Christ in all we do.

Please pray for the team of twenty people who are coming from Canada and the U.S. in four weeks. Pray that God would prepare them for the work they are coming to do and that He would work through them and in them while they are here. Pray for protection and blessing for them while they are here and for the plans to continue to go smoothly.

Please pray for a girl in our program named Claire. We recently found out that her father has been involved in witchcraft and he has apparently sold his children into some kind of curse. She has been haunted by demons and nightmares. She got saved in April and her father is not happy about it or about the amount of time she has been spending at our house. Pray for protection for her and her sisters and for a change in their father’s heart.

Please continue to pray for provision for us because costs keep rising. We were shocked to discover that school fees for this term had almost doubled for 41 of our students. Sugar is now three times higher than it was five months ago (and still on the rise).  I still have a dream of buying land and building a new, safe, mould free house one day (soon). Please pray for patience, guidance, and provision regarding that as well.

I have recently been smacked in the face with the realization that I am a single mother, trying to raise six teenagers on my own, while also running an organization. It is very very very clear that it’s only by God’s grace and strength that I have managed to make it this far (remember my post office story, that’s more like the real me), but I know that there will come a day when I won’t be able to do this on my own anymore.

When Kristy and I were prayed over in Entebbe, someone told me that they saw a vision of me in the middle of the ocean in a rowboat, trying to get somewhere by my own strength but not really going anywhere. Then they saw God blowing me in a completely different direction than I was trying to go originally. Another saw the vision of Moses with someone on either side of him, holding up his arms when he was too exhausted to do it himself.

I am at the point of exhaustion. I have failed in my own strength before and I will again. I need to be able to just rest and let God do what He wants to do. I need to be spending enough time with Him to know where He is leading us. Please pray that I would be better at letting go and letting Him do His will.

I also know that we need leaders in this ministry who are passionate about God and about these children, especially men. Pray that God would bring the right, appointed people at the right time and that we would have discernment in knowing who the right people are. And for the record, if one happens to be my handsome, preferably British, husband then I wouldn’t object.

You might remember that when you started reading this email (ages ago), I was sharing with you some of the awesome things that make my day a little brighter. As much as I loved reading Neil’s book, I was struck by the sadness that Neil doesn’t know anything better than all the awesome things in his book. An obviously positive person, his way of viewing the world is a great one but I couldn’t help but think about how much he is missing because there is something so much better than what he knows.

I have never personally faced a tragedy but I have been through some tough stuff. When the really tough stuff hits, or when we face tragedies like car accidents and sicknesses that don’t make sense, we need something so much more than the little joys in the day to get us through. The smell of gasoline and the sound of barely frozen puddles cracking when you step on them are great, but not enough to give us what we need.

What we need in the really bad times is hope, joy, and peace that passes understanding, which in my experience is found in faith in God alone.

All of you, by reading this and choosing to take time out of your busy days, have been a source of strength and encouragement to me. Thank you for caring about our lives. And thank you, again, for your invaluable prayers. May God bless you and fill you with hope, joy, and peace.

Love and blessings,

Kimi