A Memoir of Gratitude

Sometimes I write to vent when I’m frustrated.  Or I write because I’m overwhelmed and need to process.  But today, I’m simply writing because I’m thankful.

I believe that we are responsible to share whatever we’ve been given.  So whenever God gives me a good, happy story, I can’t keep it to myself.

If you’ve been following my blog, you probably already know a lot of the background info leading up to my latest story...

First moved to Uganda in 2006.  Fell in love with a missionary dude.  Dreamed of moving to Northern Uganda with him.  Things fell apart.  Got my heart broken.  Bounced back and moved on.  Fell in love with a nation.  Moved back to the States after a year.  Blah blah blah.  Couldn’t stay away from the third world for too long and ended up back on the mission field.

I guess a part of me knew I wasn’t done with Uganda when I first left it in 2007.  I was too in love with the children there to never return; however, I thought visiting every once and a while would suffice.  On the contrary, this was not enough for Jesus.  When He called me to move back to Uganda in 2013, I knew I needed to give all of myself, but I was kind of scared to do so.  Though I couldn’t deny God’s voice, the fleshly part of me was less than thrilled to jump back into the environment that had almost crushed me seven years prior. 

Fortunately, God sent me back to Uganda with many promises – really good ones in fact.  Knowing ahead of time that some pretty specific things would happen in Africa made moving across the planet – again – a little bit easier.  I felt God’s reassuring voice. 

I am bringing you back to Uganda to redeem dreams that were stolen years prior.

You will finally reach your “Promised Land.”

You have an inheritance in Uganda…

After experiencing God’s faithfulness for many years, I had no reason to doubt He would come through for me.  The more I reflected on what God had spoken into my heart, the more excited I got to return to Africa and see those promises come to fruition.  I started becoming impatient and couldn’t wait to land in Africa and experience everything sort of magically fall into place - immediately.  When I landed in Uganda, I was prepared for a wonderful, smooth, easy season of ministry.  My heart was bursting at the seams.

Unfortunately, the promises didn’t come instantly, and my hopes for a smooth season of ministry were almost instantly crushed.  In fact, the first six months back in Uganda were some of the worst months of my life.  Again, many of you know the story.  No matter what I did for the ministry I was volunteering for or how hard I worked, I was told I had failed.  Miscommunication resulted in deep, painful wounds.  Constant music blaring outside of my house deprived me of the opportunity to sleep at night.  I was struck down with a horrible mystery illness for a month.  I was backstabbed and robbed by one of the boys who lived with me.  I was arrested, threatened, and harassed.  You get the drift.  I was miserable. 

For a while, I was angry.  I kept asking God, Why did you bring me back to this place?  I thought this was supposed to be a season of redemption.  And then I was just sad and hurt – so defeated by ministry that I contemplated quitting missionary life altogether.  By the end of six months, the only thing I felt was pure exhaustion.  I think my body was too weak to try to be angry or sad.  After being diagnosed with a gazillion different freaky tropical diseases, my priority became having a pulse.

But then, something miraculous happened.  My body healed up, and my heart started to follow.  By September, everything began turning around.  My friend Pastor Robert invited me to move to Northeastern Uganda to work with his ministry, Mercy Seat.  He worked out in the bush – in real Africa – in the setting I had dreamt of so many years ago.  Suddenly, I realized working with Pastor Robert might be part of the redemption God had been talking about.  The doors for working in Northern Uganda that had slammed shut in 2007 started opening again.  So, I decided to move from the capital city of Kampala to rural Soroti.  That’s like moving from Manhattan to Kentucky.  Though it was a sacrifice in some ways, it was also the beginning of fulfilled promises.

As I worked alongside Pastor Robert, God showed me that the way I’d dreamt of “doing ministry” back in 2007 could have created massive damage to the local culture as well as to myself.  He gave me a new ministry strategy that entailed empowering local leaders to pursue their dreams for a transformed Uganda.  I was privileged to launch a new ministry called Link.Launch.Love. that channels resources from the western world to small, grassroots ministries in Uganda.  I’ve found my niche being a bridge builder and a voice for my Ugandan friends.  By writing and speaking about what’s happening on the ground in Uganda, resources have begun to pour in, and countless people have received assistance.  Pastor Robert’s ministry, Mercy Seat, has built a house for a family of blind women, started a microloan project where eleven people have either started businesses or boosted existing businesses, paid school fees for a once child-headed household…and lots more.

And two of the boys – well, I should say men – who I helped take care of eight years ago in Kampala enlisted my help to start a ministry they’ve named Hope for the Lost.  These young men had been eager to return to their villages of origin after living at an orphanage in Kampala for years, but they had no resources to get started.  Because of people’s generosity, now they do have resources; and I couldn’t be prouder to be a part of these guys’ dream.

I didn’t know that when God said He’d redeem broken dreams they could be this good.  I never imagined lives could be changed so quickly and so beautifully.  Oh, I could share stories of my sweet Ugandan friends for hours.  Like Stella Rose, who is blind but has learned to recognize my voice and now greets me by name whenever I visit her.  Like Grace, who has called me her daughter since the first day I met her.  Like Margret, who hasn’t stopped smiling since playing games at our Christmas party.  Like Papa Mzee and Opio, who are obsessed with my chocolate cookies.  It would take endless pages to write about all of the families I work with, but I want to highlight a couple of them.

Jamila’s story cannot go untold.  Jamila is a widow who’s lost not only her husband but every single child of hers except for one daughter.  She works tirelessly in swampy rice fields every day to provide for two of her grandchildren that she is raising.  Both are infected with HIV.  Obviously, Jamila is no stranger to loss.

My friends at Mercy Seat and I had been praying for Jamila and asking God to show us something for her.  While praying for Jamila, I saw a vision but didn’t know what it meant.  In the vision, Jamila was approaching a treasure chest.  Inside the chest, she found a mirror.  When she looked into the mirror, she saw the reflection of a young woman’s face.  I wasn’t sure if it was Jamila when she was young or if it were her daughter. 

Weeks later, Pastor Robert, my friend Natalie, and I went to visit Jamila.  During a previous visit, Jamila had told us that she’d heard her dead daughter calling out to her in the night.  She’d gone to the mosque to seek guidance, and the leader failed to mention that this encounter was straight up demonic.  Jamila remained confused and told us that she had been searching for truth for a long time.  Though I’d had the vision many weeks before, I knew it was now time to share the vision with Jamila.  I asked her if she thought it had anything to do with her daughter who had died.  Stunned, Jamila explained that she had recently looked through a bag her late daughter had left behind.  Inside the bag, she’d found two things - money and a mirror.  As Jamila realized that this matched the treasure and mirror I’d seen, she was amazed.  To be honest, I was kind of amazed too.  I had no idea the vision was literal.  Jamila asked me how I had seen the treasure and mirror before she’d told me what she’d found.  I told her the vision came from the Holy Spirit.  Natalie and Pastor Robert jumped in, and we shared the gospel with Jamila.  Shortly after, she told us she wanted to accept Jesus as her savior.  So in the dirt, we prayed together, and Jamila gave her life to Christ.

The same day, we went to visit Stella Rose and her family.  She, her mother, and her two daughters were all born blind.  One of her daughters had also lost her ability to speak a few years ago, and it’s common knowledge among the villagers that this girl “went mad.”  Weeks prior, we’d prayed for all four blind people, and it seemed nothing had happened.  However, when we went to check on the family, they reported that the daughter had been SINGING earlier.  Yes, the once mute girl was singing the words, “Jesus is my rock.  Jesus is my rock!” 

As if these moments weren’t enough to completely undo me, I received one of the best gifts of my life while serving in Soroti.  One morning, I went to Amoroto, the main village where Mercy Seat works.  I thought I was going there to visit some of our families’ homes; however, when I arrived in the village, our friends were all gathered together in a big group.  Pastor Michael, a local leader in Amoroto and one of the most humble people I’ve ever met, organized a meeting to honor us for our work in his village.  Afterwards, he pulled Natalie and I aside and escorted us to his property.  He explained that he’d put a portion of his land aside and was offering it to me as my official Ugandan inheritance.  He wanted me to have the land so that I could build my very own hut and stay there whenever I wanted.  Anyone who knows me knows that it’s been a longtime dream of mine to have a hut in Africa.  (Yes, I realize that’s a weird dream for a white girl from Connecticut, but that’s beside the point.)  Often, when foreigners try to purchase land in villages in order to build, they are ripped off for their skin color.  I never in my wildest dreams expected to be given a plot for free – especially from a family who owned so little.  Land is often the most valuable possession a father can offer his children in Uganda.  Therefore, when Pastor Michael handed me a paper offering me the land as an official inheritance as his daughter, I was moved beyond words.  To top things off, his children, who could have been jealous that this land wasn’t added to their own personal inheritances, were all smiles as they welcomed me to their family. 

I came home and could barely wrap my mind around what I’d just been given.  As I prayed, I didn’t have words sufficient to express the gratitude I felt in my heart.  I only had tears.  While crying out of pure joy and thankfulness, God reminded me that He hadn’t brought me to Uganda just to do something for Him; He’d brought me there to give something to me.  If I hadn’t believed His plan was better than my own, I would have missed out on major blessings.

So there you have it.  After getting ready to throw in the towel, I experienced life coming together miraculously.  I finally got to work out in the bush and see God moving mightily there.  I launched a ministry that I actually believe in with all my heart.  I gained a Ugandan family.  I was handed a literal inheritance in my promised land.  And my broken dreams for ministry were not only restored but handed back to me a million times better than what I ever imagined.

I never want to forget this season of my life.  I think it’s really important to write memorials of gratitude to refer back to when life gets crazy.  Even though things are going really well at the moment, I know there will be valleys again in the future.  Documenting God’s faithfulness can be a good reminder during tough seasons.

I also want to encourage anyone who is going through a rough patch right now.  I know it’s hard to keep fighting when circumstances are brutal.  It honestly scares me to think how terrifyingly close I came to giving up last year.  I was too sick, too tired, too discouraged and beaten down to think I could keep going.  The enemy tried to take me out.  And he almost did.  But after taking what I thought was my last punch, I realized I needed to get back into the ring.  So I did.  Weary, afraid, frustrated – I went back.  And in my weakness, the Lord gave me everything He’d promised.  He redeemed everything that had been lost, making beauty from ashes in His awesome perfection.

God’s promises do not always come to fruition in our time.  They do not always come without a battle.  But they do come, and when they do, they are always worth the wait.

So if you’re in a battle, keep fighting.  Keep pushing.  You will make it.  And soon you will have your own memoir of gratitude to share.