Tonight, my heart is a little sad. OK, a lot sad.
I've been itching for Africa so bad I can't think straight for months. Step after step has led me to the next, and this week I stumbled upon (or slightly shoved by Marianne) the book Kisses From Katie. Marianne told me Brent bought it for her, and that I needed to read it...except she said it would have me living in Kenya before I finished it. I thought she was joking.
Jokes on me. Again.
The devastation she talks about in the book is covered in God's provision and grace, and I want to quit my life and move in with her. She doesn't have any men in her home or I would take Tobi and Uriah with me (kidding..). Then I talked to Brent yet again about a friend of his' organization that he founded for a few orphanages in Sudan...they have a blog. I shouldn't have read it.
www.hisvoiceglobal.com/blog/
Go to it.
Now.
Seriously, open in new tab, read the thing and come back.
I was in tears from the first bloated little naked belly I saw.
Something about me has ALWAYS had a tender heart for little babies and children and I can't explain it. (Katie talks about it in the book..and its like she's describing my convictions rather than her own) But something in me is amplified times a million now that I'm a mother. That first little bloated belly, that first set of dusty african feet, that first little face without a mommy to take care of it..I was ready to jump in a plane, run to them, put them in a tub in calming lavendar Johnson & Johnson bath time bubble bath, cuddle them up in a fuzzy blue towel and call them MINE.
You may not feel the same way.
I hope you do.
Funny thing is, this week we got our taxes in. And we have been on a money spending spree ever since. Things that we "needed", a few new pieces of clothing. Amercian standards: we needed them. African standards:we have enough clothes in our home to clothe probably 50 people.
New shoes..because ours are "worn" American standards: we really should throw them out, they're tattered, some have holes and some just smell horrible. African Standards: We have enough shoes to keep 50 people's feet from getting cut or bruised or jiggers in them when they walk.
Part of me wanted to throw up when Katie mentioned in her book that before she left she would have easily dropped $100 on shoes, and that $100 could feed several families for months in Uganda.
Mood diminishing by the second.
Take some time with me to evaluate our priorities. Our lifestyles.
I'm in Target everyday. Sometimes its just for necessities like toilet paper, formula and baby food..but 85% of the time its to see if they have new cute clothes.
Below is a picture of a little girl who walked every day down a STEEP ravine carrying a five gallon bucket. When she got to the bottom, she would fill it up with unclean drinking water, and carry it back up the rocky ravine..barefoot. I don't know her name. I do know, that she is a child, and that she no longer has to do that. I'm sure she still goes and fetches water..but now its a clean source. It is at a well, and not at the bottom of a death trap. That's because of an organization called the 410 bridge. Because someone took God seriously when he told us to care for the poor. Because someone sacrificed a two dollar drink a day and instead invested their money and time and emotion into something that matters.
I've been itching for Africa so bad I can't think straight for months. Step after step has led me to the next, and this week I stumbled upon (or slightly shoved by Marianne) the book Kisses From Katie. Marianne told me Brent bought it for her, and that I needed to read it...except she said it would have me living in Kenya before I finished it. I thought she was joking.
Jokes on me. Again.
The devastation she talks about in the book is covered in God's provision and grace, and I want to quit my life and move in with her. She doesn't have any men in her home or I would take Tobi and Uriah with me (kidding..). Then I talked to Brent yet again about a friend of his' organization that he founded for a few orphanages in Sudan...they have a blog. I shouldn't have read it.
www.hisvoiceglobal.com/blog/
Go to it.
Now.
Seriously, open in new tab, read the thing and come back.
I was in tears from the first bloated little naked belly I saw.
Something about me has ALWAYS had a tender heart for little babies and children and I can't explain it. (Katie talks about it in the book..and its like she's describing my convictions rather than her own) But something in me is amplified times a million now that I'm a mother. That first little bloated belly, that first set of dusty african feet, that first little face without a mommy to take care of it..I was ready to jump in a plane, run to them, put them in a tub in calming lavendar Johnson & Johnson bath time bubble bath, cuddle them up in a fuzzy blue towel and call them MINE.
You may not feel the same way.
I hope you do.
Funny thing is, this week we got our taxes in. And we have been on a money spending spree ever since. Things that we "needed", a few new pieces of clothing. Amercian standards: we needed them. African standards:we have enough clothes in our home to clothe probably 50 people.
New shoes..because ours are "worn" American standards: we really should throw them out, they're tattered, some have holes and some just smell horrible. African Standards: We have enough shoes to keep 50 people's feet from getting cut or bruised or jiggers in them when they walk.
Part of me wanted to throw up when Katie mentioned in her book that before she left she would have easily dropped $100 on shoes, and that $100 could feed several families for months in Uganda.
Mood diminishing by the second.
Take some time with me to evaluate our priorities. Our lifestyles.
I'm in Target everyday. Sometimes its just for necessities like toilet paper, formula and baby food..but 85% of the time its to see if they have new cute clothes.
Below is a picture of a little girl who walked every day down a STEEP ravine carrying a five gallon bucket. When she got to the bottom, she would fill it up with unclean drinking water, and carry it back up the rocky ravine..barefoot. I don't know her name. I do know, that she is a child, and that she no longer has to do that. I'm sure she still goes and fetches water..but now its a clean source. It is at a well, and not at the bottom of a death trap. That's because of an organization called the 410 bridge. Because someone took God seriously when he told us to care for the poor. Because someone sacrificed a two dollar drink a day and instead invested their money and time and emotion into something that matters.
This is a baby named Patrick. He is lucky, he has a mother who takes care of him. Along with several other women who live in Karima, Kenya. There are SO many other babies, and children, and teens who do not have parents. Who didn't have someone to carry them on their back through the dirty roads, who didn't have someone feed them breakfast, or lunch, or dinner. I think of my Uriah, who has 3 jars of baby food for dinner on average, who drinks about 32 ounces of formula a day. It breaks my heart to think of little babies all over the world, not just in Africa, who don't get that.
Below is a small, pixelized picture of Emily (Wangeshi, my roommate) and a boy who I will never be able to forget. His name is Martin. He can not speak. He can not stand. Every day when we got to the school, hundreds of children ran up to us. There was a small language barrier so I'm sure from the outside looking in we all sounded pretty goofy saying "Hi, how are you?" over and over. On the second day, I believe, Three children approached me, and as I started to speak to them I noticed the one in the middle's hand was drawn up on one side. As I looked closer each of his legs were being propped up by the child on each side of him. I began to speak to him and the biggest, most beautiful smile I've ever seen spread across his face..Then a teacher approached quickly and informed me he could not speak and he didn't know what I was saying. My response "Thats ok, I think he does.". Today I read from the book of Mark, when the paralytic's friends brought him on his mat to Jesus..thats what I saw come to life that day. That boy's friends brought him out, they showed him the love of Jesus so he could see everyone, instead of being left behind because his legs didn't work. Because he was different. I'm baffled at how quickly I forget to be that kind of friend. How quickly I become selfish and don't want any part of helping others.
Today, my toenails are painted this exact color. But my feet have long ago washed off that kenyan dirt. I want my feet dirty again. I want to walk those roads for 4 hours again because Kenyan's are always late and we have to walk 98745235 miles to see a bridge that they are proud of. I miss DOING something. I miss loving on people. I'm aware I can do that here, and I plan on doing so. But I want my feet dirty, I want my hands dirty. I want to be known as someone who loves Jesus, and loves people more than things.
For the fifteenth time, I want dirty feet. Because dirty feet, are beautiful.
"And how are they to preach unless they are sent? As it is written, “How beautiful are the feet of those who preach the good news!” Romans 10:15
