I just took that picture. As I write I can smell the aroma in my house and I can have a facial in the steam, if I feel like it. I know it’s going to be a good day because I’m going to eat my absolute favorite food. I have several food allergies, so what I can eat is limited and most of my once favorites are now forbidden. But not Minestrone, thank God~! When I’m cooking Minestrone I won’t skip one step and call it Minestrone because I can tell the difference. I will be bothered by the extra work and trouble because it makes a difference and for my favorite, I will accept nothing less than the best. It’s so good I’ve had people plead and beg for my recipe but I’ve hesitated to give it because it takes true love to get it right and I’m not sure I can trust anyone else to stir in the heart that it requires. But because I feel generous today and I’m thankful that you come to me and read my quirky stories… I’m going to share it. And forgive me because I’m not big on measurements. I just look at it and decide if it looks right to me. You’ll have to try and make do with the “eyeball” measurements.

First~ the day before you want to make the soup: Make some home made chicken stock. Take a whole chicken, or buy one cut up and put it in a stock pot, add water, a few bay leaves,  chopped up onion, carrot, celery, garlic, a few peppercorns, salt to taste. I cover it and simmer it for a few hours. Strain it and save the liquid. Put it in the fridge and let it chill so the fat rises to the top, which I skim off when I use it to make the soup. It should have a deep golden color and smell great. The meat can be reserved for another recipe or frozen, it won’t be used for this soup. (My kids will make chicken quesadillas themselves with it.) Stock also freezes well.

Soup Day:

Put the skimmed stock into the soup pot. Add rustic chopped vegetables. I like a good chunk of carrot on my spoon and in my mouth. But I don’t want long green beans. I also don’t prefer floppy big onions, I like those small too. Here’s what I put in:  again, the quantities are up to you. I don’t think it matters. It’s according to how you like your soup.

green beans, garlic, carrot, onion, yellow squash, zucchini, a can of diced tomatoes, a can of drained canellini beans, a can of drained garbanzo beans, salt and pepper, some fresh thyme twigs, a couple bay leaves and a small can of tomato paste. (before serving pull out the bay leaves and the barren thyme twigs)

Now my biggest most important and best secret: A big chunky rind from the authentic Parmesano Reggiano wedge of cheese. It’s got to be from Italy and well aged. No substitute will work. And if you don’t use it you can’t call it my Minestrone. I toss it in and let it flavor the soup as it cooks. It gets soft and gummy. When it’s done cooking I throw it out. (Craig is laughing because now you all know what a twirp I can be.)

Now I simmer that mixture for a couple hours. Separately I cook some elbow macaroni noodles. I reserve some of the cooking water and use it to keep the noodles from sticking. I keep them in a bowl separately. I never ever add them to the soup because it makes them into mush. That’s a big no no. Always keep noodles separate from soup that you wish to use as leftovers. (and this soup tastes better as leftovers so make a big pot)

For this pot of soup I have a good harvest of basil in my vegetable garden so i’m going to make some homemade pesto. I don’t always do that. I use a good quality pesto from costco.

Assembling the bowl of soup is an art I learned from waitressing at a fine dining Italian restaurant while I went to the University of Michigan.  I can’t think of a better way so here’s what needs to happen:

In your bowl put a scoop of macaroni noodles. And a big dollop of pesto. Then ladle the soup over it. Stir it up. Top with a few shaving of parmesan with a microplane so the cheese just melts right in. Lately, I have an affinity for truffle salt. If you can find that a little sprinkle on top is irresistible. Manga! Bon Appetito! Salud! Dig in!

Remember it always tastes best on a day that is just a little gloomy and chilly one that makes you want to curl up on the couch with a good book. For life in the south, any day that goes into the seventies will do.  It looks a little like how Lucy felt this morning:

I found her this way. One of the kids wrapped her in her blanket and she liked it so she never moved. Funny. Sadly for her she won’t be eating my soup, but I do notice her nose up in the air around the stove. Even she knows it will be divine.

 I asked my new friends in Uganda, “so when you have free time, what do you go do for fun? What’s the most exciting thing you do in your week?” Of course you know by my title, they answered,  ”Going to church is the best part of the week.” (We visited Miracle Center in Kawempe, below is the photo of our team entering the church.)

This comes, of course,  from the Christians we were working with. But, we drove through the night scenes of community in action on the streets of Kampala and it was a bobbing, swirling melee of activity and fun. It looked like a great big block party that happened every night without anyone needing to plan it.

Church had the same feeling.  There was singing that came from an urgent place deep inside them that was intense, raw and unhindered by self consciousness,. I recognized a great need to worship God, give thanks and express joy. When I worship corporally, it usually doesn’t include my whole body. Now after experiencing church in Africa myself, I am wondering why not?

The church structure we visited in Kampala was not much more than a pavilion in some ways. The walls were posts and there were tarps attached to keep out some elements, but not the bugs. The sound equipment was caged in and locked up. The chairs were plastic stackable arm chairs set out in rows. There was a stage and behind it a colorful display of draped fabric. The roof was sheet metal, and at one point the sun was shining through it right on top of my head and I seriously thought I was coming down with a fever because my temperature was rising. I did get smart and look up to see I was being cooked by the sun through that metal roof.

The people were beautifully dressed. The men wore suits, dress shoes and ties. Not what we see in our church anymore, not that it matters, I’m not making a judgment, but it was so nice to see everyone show up in their best clothes. The women wore long dresses in bright colorful African prints. Many of them wrapped their heads in beautiful fabrics with a knot in the front. Their jewelry was colorful and chunky. I rarely saw anyone wearing makeup, which seems appropriate because they are so strikingly and naturally beautiful.  For the offering they put a basket in front of the altar and the people come forward and put their money into it.

The pastor Robert spoke clearly and wisely using God’s word to encourage and instruct. That day he stepped aside from his wood carved podium and loaned it to our Pastor Omar who preached the message. The people were so involved with what he taught. It was exciting to experience their connection.

done

The African singing is soulful. I was crazy for it. Here’s a small example of another day that week we were in worship with the people.

done

 

The list is long. Being on the beach with Craig is my personal favorite joy, but that’s not a daily option for me. I’m sure every person has a good long list of favorite ways to have an “instant fix”.  When I feel a little overwhelmed, blue, confused, lonely, distraught with a problem, tired, bored– there’s something in me that rings a little bell and announces, “Hey you can fix this right now go do it.” It is quite difficult for me to sit on those negative feelings and just let them reside. I don’t want to feel those things, not at all. It makes me squirmy.

Here are a few of the things I jump for when I need a fix: reading, working in the art room making something, hang out with my boys, play with lucy, have something to drink that I like  though not necessarily what’s good for me, a snack preferably crunchy or sweet or even better: decadent, shopping, planting flowers, a cuddle with my dog…when I’m really swamped and don’t have the necessary time to get a good fix I am usually standing in the pantry without hunger in my belly. Can anyone relate? I often feel too busy to take the necessary break that will really do the job of restoring me to my sunny self.

This week was an important turning point for me. After returning from Uganda I had the supreme pleasure of having Veronica stay with us, and the day after she left my best friend Erica came to stay with me for a week. Her husband Doug joined us on the weekend. We had soo much fun. It’s always my great pleasure to drop everything and enjoy being with my friend and sharing my kids with her, my life, my home, my gardens, my dog. Yes it was just what I like to do. That week also included Kevin’s birthday who is now 12 (talk about that later) and Donny’s birthday who is 17 (finally!) and halloween fit in there too. When it was all over there was a mixture of let down because the fun was now past, but there was also a sense of needing to draw in the reins of my home and self and get things settled with more intentional choices and less carefree fun. It’s true, a girl can only have so much fun before it’s time to re-establish some self discipline.

So, I felt inspired by my sisters in Uganda who were having a fast to hear from God on how to proceed with our interest in adopting. It signalled to me that I too needed to be still and hear God first, not my own concoctions of making myself feel better. I decided to fast three days from my pleasures! Every time I wanted my favorite fix I asked myself to go to God. I ate plain bland boring food for three days, and drank nothing but coffee, tea, and water. I didn’t buy myself one thing that was for me alone. I didn’t go anywhere fun. I restored my home to good order. I had a lot of thinking time with God. It wasn’t easy to do, but I knew it was what I needed deep inside to begin a fresh start. I really do want my great pleasure to come from having an intimate relationship with God. I notice that sometimes even that can become part of the routine of life. I’m not willing to let that be acceptable. So I soaked in the words of the bible and allowed them to influence my every thought, feeling and choice, I remembered: that  is THE FIX.

I believe I have mentioned that children are the same no matter what continent we find ourselves on. It’s the parents that handle the same universal issues in manic ways.In Europe kids are managed. In Asia, they are indulged. In South America they are coddled. In Africa they are overwhelmed with children. No matter what parents love their kids with the best they have in them. A parent’s love of their child is a universal language. It’s just that having kids to raise is not a univeral experience. Of course, I report this from my own limited experience with the people I meet, the observations from the street, and the books that I read. Us parents, we don’t usually have much of a clue what to do with these kids as they develop and move out of childhood (just when we’re getting a hang of it) and they move into adolescence striving for their own independent adulthood. We panic as parents. We are fearful, we don’t want to give them the relaxed leash they need, we aren’t ready to let go… blah blah blah. Some parents just step out of the parenting role and hope the adolescent kid can figure it out. It’s usually our issue, and not theirs. Our kids are usually doing what they need to do. Their hormones and social development hurl them forward into the next phase they need to confront, whether they are ready or not. We parents think we’d like to be in control so we either try to halt it, or thwart it or surrender to it helplessly. Isn’t it just remarkable that kids turn out ok?

I have probably inadvertently tried to ruin my own, but haven’t succeeded because God’s is a bigger parent than I am.

Here’s a few challenges I deal with regularly:

• the boys don’t tell me when they run out of soap in the shower, they just take a shower without soap. The same goes for shampoo.But they’ll have an emergency when the deodorant is empty.
• moldy unfinished lunches are found stuffed into the strangest places in my home, a place I clean myself regularly and thoroughly.
• if I hid the tv remote they would notice it missing immediately but they don’t notice that their clothes are folded clean in the laundry room in the exact spot their own personal pile is always waiting for them…I’ve taken to hiding their pile of clothes lately if they don’t come put it away when it’s obviously clean and ready for them. It’s amazing how much time can pass before they notice a significant pile of their clothes are missing….I am learning they (one) don’t care what they wear, (two) have too much, and (three) need some fashion sense transfused from my brain into theirs. I’m waiting for science to come up with an easy cost effective method to get this to happen…. meanwhile it is fun to hide their things and wonder when they will notice.
• when I am not looking they “think” they can get away with something… but everything gets caught sooner or later, and what a fool they feel like then… it’s really important if you have a sneak to catch them at everything… I mean everything… yes this is exhausting but they have to know you are smarter then they are. Don’t give in to the exhaustion of it. Rise to the challenge for their ultimate good.
• the most common question I am asked is “what’s there to eat”, it’s not usually, “what did you do today mom?” This let’s me know where to motivate them. My answer is usually, well, we’ll eat dinner when these three things you know need to happen are accomplished. It works. It’s not cruel. It’s just life.
• procrastinators do not need nagging moms… they need mom’s with a firm boundary and some serious consequences that hit them where it hurts…and a few good laughs along the way together is good therapy… my own procrastinator announced as he read the title of a book I was teaching as a parenting resource for a class: “how mother’s influence their sons”…. (his words) they take away the things that are important to them…HaHaHa
• drama needs to be ignored… no amount of emotion can undo a stupid choice…if we can be manipulated by emotional outbursts we need serious help. We need to have a laser beam understanding through drama that is meant to manipulate us and keep us from administering the necessary discipline at the appropriate time. The important key here is not to lose our patience or get angry, both of which undo all the good we try to accomplish as parents.
• the quiet slip out of the radar type of kids can’t be allowed to be so good that they can do as they please… sometimes they need to be lassooed by the neck and drawn into the mix of the messiness of family life… an easy kid needs as much involvement, management, constructive guidance and concerned love as the one with more issues… don’t let the easy ones back out of the scene. Draw everyone of them into the mix because that’s where great family memories are made.

So how do we avoid the temptation to feel overwhelmed and get impatient and angry with the mountain of issues we need to deal with moment by moment?

We take care of our personal relationship with God. We believe and trust in the promises of God. This unleashes a power from God that is entirely supernatural and outside of our own abilities.That’s when we grow in intimacy with God and believe the insurmountable is a worthy challenge…where we are never alone facing it.

Let’s take the challenge with our kids. (if you doubt me read 2Peter)

Each kid is created uniquely and perfectly. Our job as parents is to discover their uniqueness and direct them in that way…… not OUR way.

As this little one sleeps peacefully on the shoulder of her mama she is safe and secure. But we learned one afternoon that there are some girls who are anything but safe. I have had a difficult time wrangling my heart down to share this story because it gives me such grief and sickness. I could follow the intentions of my subconscious and block it entirely, and leave it out of the record, but I know what happens then. It finds it’s way out somehow, tormenting me emotionally perhaps until the story is told and many more  people can pray for the loss of innocence of young girls sold, stolen and forced into prostitution.

We visited a safe house on our final day in Uganda. We thought we’d be interacting with all of the girls who currently live there but we learned on arrival they are all at boarding school. There are girls age ten to seventeen who have been rescued from brothels in Uganda, or Ugandan girls who were found in Thailand sold into sex slavery.

The woman who directs this safe house is an intelligent mom of three with a mission to rescue and rehabilitate these girls so they can eventually resettle themselves in a productive dignified way. She showed us pictures of the girls on her computer. Many of them are leaders in their class now. They are bright faced, smiling and as adorable as any other girl we may see at a school. To think of the horrors they have endured in their young lives shakes me to the core. It stirs up an anger that would be dangerous if released. How could the evil be this extreme to steal the innocence of young girls? One of the girls fell into the trade because her mother was a prostitution and her clients would take their turn with the daughter. It should make us want to vomit.

The first thing the director of the safe house does when she has the girls is restore their self worth and teach them that they have options other than the prostitution. She raises money to pay for their schooling. Each girl’s school fees costs six hundred dollars a year. (I think they can house up to thirty girls.) She gives them a dream journal so they can begin imagining a life that has safety in it, security, love, respect and purpose.

I applaud the heart of this woman who’s life work is to rehabilitate these girls. She teaches them they are daughters of the King, that is Jesus. They are beautiful and they can depart from what their life once was and be made new. It might be a long journey but with Jesus they can make great strides.

When I left the safe house I couldn’t cry. I wanted to break down and sob but I was numb. I couldn’t take it in. My mind rejected it. My heart heaved. My stomach churned a deep nausea I couldn’t shake for hours. Even as I’ve been home for three weeks, this is the one topic I haven’t been able to talk about. Even now I can’t intelligently share what I learned that day because my emotional compass is stuck in a tangled mess. I’m determined to do some reading about this subject. I’ve got to get my head into the issue and not just react with my heart. My Pastor Omar Garcia wrote a blog about our visit in:

www.gobeyondblog.ocm  and it is called: Innocence lost.  He recommended a book he read : Half the Sky. I bought it and I intend to read it. Meanwhile I’m going to pray for these girls that they can rehabilitate. I’m going to pray that all of the girls forced into prostitution can be rescued and that it would all come to an end. This evil must stop. My only weapon is prayer. Will you join me? If your heart is moved to help her safe house they are in desperate need of financial help and I am sure I could arrange to connect anyone with a way to donate to their cause. Every little bit joined together can make a big difference in the life of these girls.

I watched these men walk all the way across a small town and off a side road until I couldn’t see them anymore. We were filling our tank up with gas on our way north to the Nile River. They didn’t talk, they didn’t smile, and they never slowed down. I am wondering with a little cheeky mischief if I can somehow sell this workout to the exercise industry here in America. It seems they’ve run out of original ideas lately.

These people have laid out the delicious African coffee  to dry in the sun. Coffee is the only thing cheap there and it is delicious! We saw  this drying technique in the rural areas regularly as we drove by. I have no idea why it is different colors. I only know the soil in the mountains is fertile and they grow a significant amount of coffee there.  And I was happy to drink it each morning when the rooster crowed me awake.

This guy is at our car window in the city trying to sell us a live chicken in case we wanted to have a little barbeque for dinner. Can you imagine? We would have bought it for four dollars just to save it’s life! He’s carrying a bag over his shoulder and I suspect there are more chickens in there. On the way home one night from a long day of teaching Kara and Leslie rode home with the “crazy driver”. That’s what I call him. I get car sick, so after the first night’s report of his driving ways, I never once rode with him. But Kara and Leslie rode home with him and two of the women from the Comforter Center. On the way home he pulled over and took a chicken from the side of the road and put it in the back of the car. Then he stopped to buy some yams, and a straw mat. Eventually he stopped and bought a rather large box of tilapia (fish) and tied it to the outside of the car. Somehow, that driver did all that stopping, and we didn’t stop once, but they arrived at the house twenty minutes before us! Kara was hysterical with laughter as she retold the story of their adventures.

One would think the tops of everyone’s head would be flat for all the weight they haul around on top of it. But I didn’t see one flat head. The women were smart  (naturally) as I saw them often cushion their bundles with a folded towel. My boys would cross their eyes at me if I suggested they carry a pack like that just down the drive way, let alone across town, in front of people. It is so interesting how different cultures solve simple problems. We take on a lot of debt to buy a car to be able to throw everything in it. They toss it on the top of their head and walk along debt free.

So at some point in the future I will be returning to Uganda, hopefully this time with the whole family.  We would consider doing some mission work for a holiday and get some balls rolling with the adoption. The kids are all eager to see Uganda, and share in my experiences. I wonder if we’ll be able to get a room in this place? Would you stay there?

It looks better than this place:

 

This is George Akena. He has been a long time friend of our Pastor Omar. When the two of them reunited this trip it was touching. Pastor pulled him to himself and they had a long conversation of reuniting. It was so easy to see a fatherly approach he took with George. He likes to tease him and either call him George Bush, or Eddie Murphy. He does have a smile that resembles Eddie, but he’s not sure what that means because he hasn’t seen one of his movies. This young man is a solid Christian and at one point he took the counsel of Pastor to determine if he ought to go become a Pastor or study the law and become a lawyer. Pastor urged him to study law because the country needs good solid Christian men in leadership roles. Pastor believes this intelligent young man of great integrity and humility will some day be an influential leader in his country. I pray it will be so. George works in the prison during the day and he goes to law school at night. On the Sunday we were there he spent the day with us going to church where Pastor preached, and the afternoon at the guest house with all of us. It was the only afternoon where we were free to relax and enjoy the company of everyone without having to be some where or work. George accompanied some to the store, and to the internet cafe. He played with the missionaries kids at the house and with their german shephard. During the church service I saw several children climb into his lap and he worshipped with a child in his arms. He’s a nice man.

During a talk he and I had between church services, where we were served the most delicious African tea,  I mentioned that Craig has always wanted to adopt a child. I confessed to him since I had been in Uganda and seen such great need for the children there, I was feeling a change and believed God was taking my heart in a new direction, one where I wanted to adopt a child as much as Craig. He more than listened, he offered to find out what the law says about outsiders adopting Ugandan children. After I returned home I received an email, and he asked me if I’d like him to find me a lawyer there who could expedite the process and not take more money from me just because I’m an American. Yes! Of course!

What I want you to see is I never asked for his help. But I received it as an indication that God has a hand in helping us find the child from Uganda that will become a member of our family.

A similar scenario developed between Veronica and myself. I mentioned to her that I’d like to some day adopt a child from her country and she looked at me like I might be a little loco. When I assured her I was serious she said I can find you the child, I know many women who have too many children they don’t want to take care of, and I have many women now who have chosen to have their child but they don’t want it. They would be very happy to give it away. I know this sounds cruel, but I hope their scenario and culture can be considered. Living at or below poverty, with a husband who refuses to use family planning, they can have eight children each easily. I cannot imagine how overwhelming that must be. Anyway, that’s another story. For this one, Veronica offered to find the child for me.

After she travelled home with our group from Uganda to America she was able to spend three days here with me at my home, as an honorary member of my family. I pampered her. I chauffeured her. I did her laundry, I cooked for her. I took her shopping,  and watched movies with her. We talked. We became sisters in the perfect way God intends believers to be. It is as true as true can be when I say our souls meshed and we both had no doubt we’d be forever connected.

She watched our family. That makes me smile. One of my greatest joys in this life is to gather at the dinner table with everyone and be enveloped with laughter, stories, and love. We pulled her into that intimate circle. She fell in love with us. She saw the desire and joy in my husband’s face as he spoke of having a little girl. She decided to partner with us in our desire. I never asked her to. I believe God moved her heart because He has a plan to accomplish through us, for the child He has chosen for us.  When everyone called to the task is obedient His will is accomplished seamlessly. I stand in absolute awe while I watch him orchestrate the circumstances of this story.

Since she has returned to Uganda we have exchanged emails. The last bit of the story I know this far has two more elements. First, the Chairman of the Board of the Comforter center is a judge in Kampala, Uganda. She is going to speak to him about our case. She is going to find us a lawyer who can do a quick job for us (hopefully, God willing)  And finally, she and Carolyn, and Harriet (both women I have written about previously in my blogs) have decided to fast and pray for me for three days this week to understand God’s will for their part in our family’s future.

Astounded. That’s all I can say I felt. After I read her email detailing their desire to fast and pray for me, I was so overcome with emotion I fell to my knees with my head in the seat of a chair and sobbed. (I am not a cry baby, when I feel emotional I go for a run or I get sick to my stomach, I never cry!) I cried. No one has fasted and prayed for me for even an hour let alone three days. I felt flattened before God. I will not doubt one moment that this adoption is His will for our family. I am so thankful to see Him work in my life. He is big. I am small and  I like it this way.

One more part to the story.

The boys took this news in different ways. At first everyone screwed up their faces and said, What? Are you serious? Kevin cried. Jordan acted out. Jack happy go lucky as usual said cool. Donny lamented he’d be going to college and miss knowing her. We left them mostly alone to think about it and talk to God about it on their own. We haven’t had much formal discussion about it for a couple weeks. We were letting them soak it in and feel it without our convincing them of anything.  So, last Sunday we go to church and what does Pastor Alex preach about? Adoption. The eyes in our kids heads popped out simultaneously and they almost looked at us as though we’d set this up! Honest we never said a thing.  (anyone can look up the sermon at www.kingsland.org  the sunday service of November 1) Pastor himself has three children, two in college and one in junior high, and they are in the process of adopting two children. After the service the boys unanimously announced that they felt God was speaking directly to them about what our family needed to do and they all had a conviction in their hearts that we should GO FOR IT. Amen.

I know someday Lucy and I will not be the only girls in this house. We’ll be starting parenting from scratch when we have a girl. But that’s ok, God doesn’t leave us alone with that.

After yesterday’s sobering post and BIG NEWs  I feel the need to share some beautiful photos of some of the children we met as we journeyed around Uganda. We could all use a lift in spirit and appreciate the resilience of a child.

I don’t recall ever seeing any of the children with toys. Occasionally someone had a stick and an old round piece of a wheel they might have pushed around for some fun.  Once we drove by an unorganized soccer match where the kids ran barefoot in the dirt seriously pursuing a victory.

If I could have done one thing differently while preparing for this trip, I would have brought a few pounds of candy and left home a few items of clothes in exchange. I always wanted to be able to pass out candy to these kids when ever I saw them. I fantasized a big pinata like sprinkling and scramble that would have been powered by shrieks of joy. It would be a rare event in their lives and so much more fun for me to see there than at a birthday party in America where every kid is bored because they’ve done it so many times before. As it was, they all had access to raw sugar cane that they like to suck and chew on…. not great for the teeth, but sweet nonetheless.

I have mentioned before that the older siblings have so many little babies coming into the family that the babies are really the toys for them. This beautiful girl here has such a sweet smile. It took a while for me to get used to how many of the children keep their heads shaved. I learned this is because it makes it easier to control lice. They all have such beautiful faces I learned quickly to look at their clothes for signs of flowers and such to determine if I was talking to a boy or a girl.

I have a lot of practice getting a crowd of kids going for a fun photograph like this one. Craig’s family reunion at the beach every year gathers fifteen cousins for a week and I have the great pleasure of bringing out the best of them in photographs. Kids are the same every where I go. Isn’t that a wonderful truth to know? If I’ve learned anything about traveling the five continents I’ve been on it is that simple fact, kids are the same no matter where they are born.  (some are louder than others…. like the ones in our country…)

The smile of a child goes a long way to keep my own satisfied.

 

I have been re-reading the blogs I’ve written that YOU have been visiting recently…. the older blogs. I must say it’s nice to see my thoughts in a daily way about my life as it unfolds.

I will confess  I get a report of every sight that is visited on my blog every day. I do not know who visits me but I know what interests “them”. I can also track how many visits a day I receive. In the past four months since I began blogging I will tell you, first I am doubling my visits each month and , second,  I don’t sit to write for a bottom line number. I am driven to tell one story in my head that wins over the ten others that get put at the back of the line each day— DRIVEN. I have so much to share. I am not sure why God made me this way but I know for sure I need to share it. Blogging is ideal for my condition because you come to me! I’m not selling you anything. I just want to be real and explore the very dangerous layers of my mind and soul. Craig is my greatest fan. I get an email from him every morning if I’m late to post.  I just know I am a writer,  and I am an artist …and I want to give it away. To think I would get rich writing a book or photographing for money doesn’t excite me one little bit. Craig has a good job. God provides. I am writing and sharing my photographs EVERY DAY because I love YOU, and because I hope to share what God has placed on my heart. Craig chuckles at one point each day because there’s like a swarm of bees hovering around my head and the honey they make is the ideas that flow from my mind. I just don’t know how it happens, but I’m never finished. I am never on empty. I am always blooming with pretty or meaningful ideas. I don’t mind exploring the depths of my emotion or pressing my mind into difficult calisthenics. For me that’s great entertainment. I just want to thank you for joining me on this journey as I share.  Without you I’d still write and I’d still begin my words with a meaningful photograph I’ve captured, but it wouldn’t be as much fun. So I give you a deep knee abiding bow of thanks for coming with me on this ride. I’m not sure where it’s going… but I know it is not  likely to slow down.

(I am always very happy when I am working with my camera.)

Now I ask your forgiveness as I share the topics of my Ugandan adventure that were either impossible for me to photograph or upsetting at a molecular level.

Every time we took a ride through the city to go anywhere it happened. A small child in the line of many approached the window and held out their hand for money. They had a smile that was not energetic or happy but desperately hopeful. We didn’t exchanged american money for Ugandan shillings until the last day when we went souvenir shopping. We didn’t have anything to give them. The locals don’t give them money, to discourage begging from cars, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t crush our spirits. I photographed everything I saw in Uganda– EVERYTHING, except the children begging from our cars. I couldn’t do it. It would be like throwing rotten eggs at them, a humiliation. In the city we saw children alone, seated on the side walk as people breezed by, they held their little hand out and they kept their head held low. Nothing like that feels more like a direct stab in my heart. For some reason Icouldn’t cry but I felt sick. I couldn’t eat for hours, I developed tension in my neck and my mood sunk into a melancholy. As I laid in bed at the end of a long day, hoping for sleep to envelop me, only the visions of their little sorry souls with their hands held out kept my mind captive to the wakefulness I wished to shed. These little ones are the photographs stuck in my mind and not in my camera.

There is nothing that makes it easy to see a child in desperate conditions. It initiates the warrior within that wants to leap up onto a table wielding a sword and proclaim with a megaphone: “It’s not right! Children need protection, provision, guidance and great love, not the last resort of begging to fill their bellies.  “FIX IT, NOW!’ That’s what I want. And, thus, the resulting sickness overcomes me because I  know  I can’t fix all of the problems for all of them, now.

 But I want to.

 Some how I have to believe God will make this right. He has a plan and a purpose for every circumstance each one of us encounters. He grows us from our sufferings. It is not for me to know his reasons for allowing some to suffer more than others. It is for me to answer obediently to do what I am burdened to do.

Craig and I are going to adopt a child from Uganda. That’s a start.

There are over two million orphans in Uganda.

There’s not enough aid for them.

This one was abandoned, is now fifteen months old and fights for his life moment by moment.

One in five women die from abortion in Uganda.

 The unborn are extinguished casually with quick abortions at clinics or in the bush by witch doctors. Life in the womb, to many,  is not considered valuable but a burden to remove. (This boy holds the twelve week old model of an unborn baby. The average size of an abortion. They were seeing for the first time it is a baby with hands, feet, eyes and organs.)

Yet… there is hope.

God has not forgotten them. He has moved the hearts of people to begin organizations like Watoto.  (  www.watoto.com   )  They are striving to help the orphans in Uganda with great success. They need more help.

There is one pregnancy crisis center in all of Uganda, and it has been founded by Veronica. She counsels young pregnant women who are on the road to the abortion clinic but come to her place first. They see the sign at the gate that reads:

 The result is five hundred women in three years have chosen not to continue up the road for the abortion, but to trust God and have the child. Life is precious, it is not disposable.  Eight hundred women have become Christians as a result of stopping in at this place of love and service.

If your heart is moved, I urge you to google: The Comforter Center Kampala Uganda   … and you can find many encouraging stories and more eye opening information.

Progress is happening, slowly. God has moved legions of people to help in this cause for the unborn and abandoned or orphaned in this place, and still there is more to be done.

This is Mary and Pastor Omar standing in the road in front of the Comforter’s Center. There is a woman walking down the hill to the left in the picture. If you imagine a young pregnant woman walking in the opposite direction up the hill, she will quickly come to the abortion clinic she’s been sent to with a fist full of sixty dollars. Pray these women stop in to see Veronica first, and that they will learn the facts about what they are wanting to do. Pray also that those who serve at the Comforter’s Center will be encouraged and supplied with resources to do this job God has given them to do. It is this cause that moved my heart last year and gave me no doubt it was the mission trip I needed to make. And I have shared in a few ways how this ministry has opened my eyes. There are still many more stories to be told. I am ready, very soon, to tell Veronica’s own story, a moving experience of how God orchestrates the circumstances of one life to impact the generations of many.