Yes, the rumors are true; I finally made it home.....
I really should not have taken a week to write this post, but between saying my goodbyes to my Floridian friends, moving, and saying hello to my Kansan friends, I've been a tad busy. But here I sit in my new room with only two boxes left to unpack; in my new home with only 345,654,476 boxes left to unpack.....
Words to describe the stories of my trip still swim about it my mind, unreachable. Some words are joyful, some words are funny enough to make you pee yourself, and yet others are so heartbreaking, I've been able to tell no one. I will, over time, write stories of the people who inspired me, stories of how "everything" went wrong, stories of the beauty of Uganda, and stories of how my heart loved so much it burst. But for now, I leave you with a story of my own (excuse the length).
Nearly two years ago, in all my pain, God made it evident to me that the theme of the next chapter of my life would be "Hope". At this time, I believed, with good reason, He meant hope for healing and restoration in me.
One year ago, I realized how amusingly selfish this was as I began to plan my Africa trip. It dawned on me one day in my all-fired frenzy to get there, that He did not mean Hope for me in this chapter, as Christ himself would always be my hope. In all actuality, His plan was for me to bring hope to others, as I wrote about back in August.
This was all well in good last summer. But when my peace crumbled before my very eyes and the skies of my life grew frighteningly dark, I begged God to give me the hope he desired for me to give others. Without it, I didn't know how much longer I could go on. Also, how could I give hope to others when I had none?
God's promise of hope seemed empty. Some nights, I would sit up crying for hours and it was all I could do to leave the house and see anyone. I wanted to seem strong and brave; I would walk with my head held high and have plenty of witty banter with my friends. But when I was alone, I would just cry. Even physically, I was falling apart. My doctor said to treat for depression.
I don't say this to gather sympathy, I promise. I just want to reveal His glory in this story.
As I wrote, I came into this trip in subconscious desperation for deliverance. In my heart, I felt that if I didn't find hope on my trip, I didn't know what I was going to do.
God tends to hide Himself in the most unexpected places. Not only is He in sunsets, but He's also in the back alleyway. Not only is He on the mountain, but He's also in the eyes of a beggar.
As I listened to the joyful laugh of a reformed prostitute, I heard the audible sound of Hope. As I worked beside people who believe that every small act of service makes a difference, I saw Hope in action. As I gazed into the eyes of a child who's lost everything and yet still has no doubt there is a loving God, and as I held the hand of the same child, I saw Hope in the most tangible form.
These people, from the oldest to the babies, they get it.
They understand that Hope isn't found in the solution or in the change of circumstance, but only in the attitude. They understand that blessing isn't always in the earthly sense of the word.
They lost everything. Life has not been fair, but cruel. They are the least of these and pain is routine. But they stubbornly believe that God is on their side. One of our team members called one little boy, "The Eternal Optimist". Rightly so.
I can't tell you when I found it, or what drew me to find it in a third world country. However, as I was supposed to be ministering to the people of Africa, they impacted me in a much more meaningful way than they could have guessed.
My Hope was not found in God's voice in the flames of a desert bush. My Hope was not found in the visitation of a glorious angel. It was found in the face of the boy in the slums who called me his sister. It was found in the persevering work of the orphanage owner who has no running water or electricity. It was found in my babies at the baby home.
I will still cry; my problems have not vanished. I would be naive to believe otherwise. But I pray my new-found Hope will keep me stubbornly believing, as my friends in Uganda do, that there is a loving God who is on my side.
Hope. A simple, stubborn, beautiful thing. Free, yet elusive. Strong, but not a feeling. Those who suffer know it well. And if they can, so can I.
