I've now been home about a month and a half. Crazy to think that just 6 weeks ago I was in Spain! My sweet little village of Mijas, where the white-washed walls brightly reflect the morning sun. Where the morning hustle of a quiet village life starts a little late and goes on till the late hours of the night. Mijas is a place where I learned about my Father's heart for me. A place where I found peace and forgiveness. A place where I wrestled daily, yes, but in the midst of HIs loving embrace. A place where brokenness came life. And a place where I realized exactly who I am. Hannah Christ. A walking example of who Jesus is: Love. While Mijas is a place I called home for a time, so was Uganda.
4.5 months ago I was in Uganda, a place that changed my life forever. Uganda is a place that radiates the essence of who God is through an unspeakable amount of joy carried by it's people. Uganda boasts both it's natural beauty and the astounding beauty that comes from the lives who have witnessed and been through so much pain. Uganda is where I finally was able to see through the lens of Christ. I saw His people for who they were, not what they were. The South Sudanese refugees I walked and lived life alongside were not without a home, because their home was found in Christ and Christ alone. The orphans I laughed with and held day in and day out were not without a family, but a part of a greater more perfect family in God's kingdom than they could ever imagine. The people of Uganda and South Sudan are Christ people too. They walk in authority, power, love, and joy against all odds because they choose to never give up. They choose love daily. This country, these people are incredible. And I truly thank God every day that I had the chance to be with them for a few months and fall in love with the people He made them to be. From the moment I landed in Uganda, the Lord told me my time was not done there. I knew it. I knew I'd be back. I didn't know when or how at the time, but God did, of course. Something I am learning is that His timing is absolutely perfect. When I left Spain, I had committed to moving back to Uganda for 2 years to become the Learning Specialist at The Amazima School. I was set to leave in September, just 4.5 weeks from now. As of just a few days ago, plans changed. My 2 year commitment will now begin in 5 months, so I will be leaving in January 2019! Many people have asked me if I am bummed or upset about the change. The answer is no because the Lord has given me a lot of peace about it. My main purpose in going to Amazima is to love. To love the people of Uganda and the students and staff at Amazima. If loving them best looks like starting in January, then I am 100% down. So, while I thought leaving in 5 weeks was the plan, He had different thoughts and He has shown me time and time again that His plans are ALWAYS better. I am thankful for these 5 months I have to spend at home because it will be the first Christmas I'll have spent with my family since 2015! So blessings all around. To my supporters: This does not change anything. It will not affect anyone who is supporting me financially. The money will stay in my account until I leave in January. If you have any questions about this switch, please don't hesitate to ask! If you would like to support me go to: https://rceinternational.webconnex.com/53928 Much love! Hannah
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On Sunday, I said goodbye to kids and women who have come a part of my heart. Three months of living with them, learning from them, and becoming a part of their lives. Three months of becoming family to them. But, now this season is over.
As our car rolled up to pick us up, kids started running over. I knew that it was time to say my final goodbyes to all of the faces who changed my life. It started becoming almost too much to say goodbye to each child as I watched tears stream down some of their faces. When I watched some of them I had become incredibly close to back away because I could almost feel the sense of abandonment they were holding onto, it hurt. Yet, all I could do was hug them and tell them how incredibly loved they are. I could look them in the eyes and tell them that God will never abandon them no matter who comes and goes and hope they understood. Some wise words spoken by the wonderful Ashley Davis: "Tears are the receipt to show you paid the price of love" These words have continued to ring true as the Lord has been teaching me a lot about suffering recently. Pain and suffering are a part of our lives each and every day. They come in different forms. Sometimes in the form of death, betrayal, natural disasters... and sometimes in the form of goodbyes. Yet, what all of these have in common is love. Pain and suffering, while not always fun, can be the driving force to a deeper intimacy with the Lord. Even Jesus drew closer to His Father through the immense pain and suffering He endured on the cross. With all of that said, the Lord is continually showing me that in every moment, good or bad, happy or painful, we have an invitation to draw nearer to Him. These past three months living in the refugee camps has been incredible. I have seen a deeper part of our Father's heart through these people and have grown to love them more than I ever imagined. Saying goodbye to them was hard, but so rewarding too because in the pain of leaving, I get to draw closer to a God who can comfort me far better than anyone else. When I see the hurt in their little eyes because all they've known is abandonment, I get to rest in assurance that He is their refuge and only He can be. I thank God that in these three months here, the relationships we built with these incredible South Sudanese people were built on the foundation of Christ. As we leave and embrace the pain of saying goodbye, we all can run to a Father who has open arms ready to receive and draw us in closer. My hope and prayer is that these kids do exactly that. Draw closer to God when they are sad, hurt, abandoned, or misunderstood. That in the suffering, they would cry out to Abba and know He never left. I pray that through the pain, they would know a deeper love than ever before. As I look into little eyes with big hurt, anger, and brokenness and sit with them, I realize that I can't fix any of it.
It doesn't matter. When I join in daily chores with the older boys, girls, and women. It doesn't matter. When I hold a little one close to my chest as her eyelids become heavy during our nightly devotions. It doesn't matter. When I share joyful giggles with children as I race four miles to school and back with them. It doesn't matter. None of it matters. Not without Jesus. Katie Davis Majors says "it's not our productiveness “for” God that counts, it is our worship, our time at His feet. It isn’t our public life, the accolades and the “well-done”s and the applause of the world that matters, it is our silent, continuous reach for Him in the places where no one is watching. It isn’t our “world changing” that makes any difference, it is the way we let Him change and shape our hearts to more reflect His." I want that so desperately. In every word I speak I want life to flood the hearts of those around me. In every decision I make, I want it to be for the glory of God and not myself. Every moment of every day I am given an invitation to be in communion with my Father. It's in those moments when I say yes to that invitation that everything begins to matter. Suddenly, what used to look like productiveness is now a reflection of our Father's love pouring out to those around me. What used to be me sitting with a hurt and angry child is now the Father saying "I'm here, I see you, and I love you". "Communion with the Father is the only thing that makes anything matter." What an astounding Father we have that all He wants is our time and our willingness. He's not looking for a world changer. He just wants us. And that, my friends, is far more powerful of a testimony than any applause we may get for our productiveness in the kingdom. That's what matters. Yesterday my team and I came back from the refugee camp to rest for a couple days in the nearby city, Arua. I woke up this morning exhausted. As if I got no sleep at all, yet I slept for probably 12 hours. I started talking to the Lord, processing my week with Him and my heart started breaking in a way it has never broken before.
Truthfully I am exhausted. Not physically. I am exhausted emotionally. Living at the orphanage in Rhino Camp has been incredible in so many ways, yet it has been so tolling on my heart. I never imagined that I would hear that these children lost their parents in gruesome ways as they watched the murder of their mother take place right in front of them. I never imagined that I would be playing with kids when all of a sudden I can hear the shrieking cries of a family who lost someone from starvation. I just never imagined any of these harsh realities until I was in the middle of it watching the hurt unfold before my eyes. Recently when I was playing with kids at the camp, a young boy who has become my little right-hand-man grabbed me and said "let us go". He took my hand and led me to a shaded spot behind some buildings where many kids and I often hang out. I had built trust with him by this point and felt the Lord prompting me to tell him how loved he was while we had the rare chance to be alone before other kids showed up. I already knew his story. His father killed his pregnant mother in front of him. Then his uncle killed his father. This little boy and his 5 other siblings were then brought to live at the orphanage. As we sat down, I looked him in the eyes and asked if he missed his mom and dad. His eyes started watering when he said he missed his mommy. He didn't miss his dad because his dad hurt his mom. I told him to look me in the eyes and I told him that his mom missed him so much and that she loved him with all her heart and was watching over him and his brothers and sisters. In that moment I saw a shift in his eyes. I saw a piece of his heart he had kept hidden behind anger all this time. He lost it. He hunched over and started sobbing. I asked him if he wanted me to leave so he could be alone. He said no. He wanted me to stay. So for the next 45 minutes I held him. My heart broke a million times over as I hugged him and prayed. That's all I could do. I told him over and over how loved he was. By his mother, by me, and most importantly by our Father. I spoke the words that were laid on my heart to say to him and Jesus started healing some of those wounds he had been carrying. As the tears rolled down his face I could see a layer of pain being healed. His gaping wounds had been masked with anger for so long and Jesus was breaking down that barrier. It was a painful but beautiful sight to see. To have the privilege to be a part of. I look back at that moment and am grateful for it. But, I often times wish I could do more. I wish I could fix his family. But, I can't bring his mother back. I can't heal the gaping wounds left on him and his siblings. Only Jesus can do that. I am thankful I was able to watch even a small but miraculous part of that healing take place. These song lyrics have been ringing in my head recently... "Take courage my heart. Stay steadfast my soul. He's in the waiting. He's in the waiting. And hold on to your hope. Watch your triumph unfold. He's never failing. He's never failing." I am learning to trust our Father more. To trust that despite the pain these kids have been though, He is still there. I know I can't do everything. I have to trust that God will. And I have to be ready to say yes when He wants to use me. Please be praying for these children. There truly is so much pain. They have never been taught how to handle it, so it often comes out in anger or unhealthy attachment issues. Pray that their little hearts would open enough to let the Holy Spirit in. Please also pray that my team and I would continue to know what to say and that we would continue walking with a "yes" in our hearts ready to do what the Holy Spirit leads us to do. 5:30 A.M. comes so fast as I wake up to the sound of roosters crowing under the still dark night sky.
The glimmer of stars as I brush my teeth and the rise of the African sun as I have my time with Jesus promise a day filled with hope and life. I can't wait. My days are filled with laughter. I spend hours sitting with the women peeling onions or picking through beans. I spend hours learning how to correctly hand wash clothes with the girls as they giggle at my hardworking, but sad attempts. But the hours I have spent with the boys at the orphanage are another story entirely. You see, boys are different then girls. The girls are not afraid to seek attention. They will hold your hand and braid your hair all day long if you'll let them. The boys won't. They will sit together in a corner and never once talk to you. They desire to be seen, to be noticed, but show it in a far different way. It's so easy not to notice them when 30 other adorable babies are grasping for your attention. My heart aches for them. I want more than anything for them to be seen, noticed, desired, pursued, and valued because I know what it is like to not be. I know what it's like to be looked over. Maybe it's unintentional, but that doesn't make the pain any less. I want so desperately for them to know they are loved. Yes, by me but most importantly by the Father. So most of my time at the orphanage has been spent with these exact boys. Ten to fifteen years old and yearning for love. Most of what these kids have known is what they perceived to be abandonment when their parents dropped them off at an orphanage. They feel forgotten and unseen. So each day, I spend a large majority of my day just being with them. Tying string to make rope for their kites, finding more cardboard for their trucks, or making up silly handshakes with them just to make them laugh. No phones, no pictures, no motives, just being with them. As a result they have started to open up. About their families, their old life in Yei, South Sudan and the hard parts of their past. I realize that the hope and life Jesus promises for each new day here is having the opportunity to show them how seen and loved they are by Christ. What an honor and a joy it is to be able to give them even a glimpse of what He sees in them when they feel so unseen by everyone else...something I am still learning for myself. :) Please be in prayer for these kids. That they would truly and deeply know our Father. That would be able to rest in who He says they are and believe it fully. That they would yearn and seek after Him. That they would know how desperately sought after they are. About a week ago my teammates and I arrived in Uganda for our 3 month practicum. We made it to Arua and eventually Rhino Camp Refugee Settlement where we are living for 4 nights a week. We are staying at Dreamland Orphanage within the camp where there are 132 amazing kids that we get to love on and play with every day.
These children are tough. They have seen more in their short little lives than many of us will ever see in our whole life. And we have been given the privilege to show them the love of Christ despite the horrors they have witnessed. I used to think the Lord was calling me to be a missionary to go and change the world. That naivety, while slightly misguided, has brought me to where I am now. Over time, the Lord has shown me His dreams for me. Not to change the world. But maybe, just maybe, I can change the world for one person by loving them where they are, by showing them how loved and valued they are as a son or daughter of Christ. By simply being there. Living at the orphanage I cherish that every morning is started and every night is ended with worship and praise together as a family. We dance, we sing, and we laugh. Every moment in between is filled with the beauty of the little things in life. It's in the moments I get to engage in their normal day to day life rather than come in with the American mindset to make everything better. The moments when I get to make toy trucks with the boys out of cardboard, wood, and their flip flops just see the joy in their face as they put the last wheel on and race it around the dusty compound picking up trash. The moments when I am able to look the girls' in their eyes and tell them how beautiful they are when they don't have a mother to say it to them. The moments when I can sit in the dirt and allow the older women to have the chair for once despite their reluctance, because they are so worthy of being taken care of also. The moments when I get to ask them to teach me their lifestyle and not the other way around. How to speak their language. How to dance African style knowing very well how ridiculous I look. And the laughter and giggles that belt out all around as I attempt it. I long for these moments. They are moments when I have gotten to witness some of the purest joy. These extraordinary people encompass what it means to live out Isaiah 61. They wear garments of praise instead of faint spirits. They have everlasting joy. And they proclaim liberty to the captives loud and proud. They encourage me to rejoice each and every moment of the day. To live life to the fullest. And to remember how good our Father truly is. My heart weeps as I learn more about their stories, their pasts, their hurt. And my heart leaps for joy when I see their smiles each morning. Smiles that never leave because they know who Christ is. Despite being forced out of South Sudan, they know where their true home is in Christ. I pray that in everything I do, in every situation I may be in, I am able to delight in our Father the way I have seen in the short time I have been here. Lord give me a joy that radiates your love and grace. Show me what it means to praise you relentlessly amidst the storm. Give me patience to wait when it is not the time and a "yes" in my spirit to go when it is. Lord, open my eyes to continue learning from these incredible people every moment in every day. What does it mean to just be? To just sit in His presence? What does it mean to be free?
These questions have swirled across my mind on the regular. What does it look like to set aside that checklist of things you need to work on? For me it looks like setting aside my fears, anxiety, forgiveness, and many other things that I feel like I need to constantly “fix”. In just abiding with Jesus in the quiet still moments, I’ve been learning that instead of trying to fix all of my struggles, I can just make the decision to choose Him over the struggles. I can choose control. I can choose to not dwell day in and day out on how to forgive or rid myself of fears, but instead rest in His embrace and know that through seeking Him, those struggles will fade. You see, these struggles are real. They are real feelings I have. And I shouldn’t shove them down and live in denial. But, they don’t drive the car unless I let them. They can sit in the backseat and just be. And I get to drive the car towards Jesus. And in doing that, freedom is found. Healing is found. But something to remember is that healing can take time. Something I don’t like. We live in a society that likes everything to be microwave status. We don’t like to wait, so we choose the fastest way. We are impatient. We want immediate gratification. While God is capable of anything, including instantaneous healing, often times he asks us to be. To walk and embrace the pain because pain challenges us to grow. Pain is something to be looked at as a tool to success rather than something to be feared. It brings us to a life of connection with others and Jesus instead of just a life of encounters. I know that I want more than encounters. And I believe most people do too. Encounters are superficial. Connection means deep relationship, growth, and yes, pain. But connection is what we were made for, because through connection, we are able to learn to love like Christ. Why else are we here on this planet if not to love? At G42 the phrase “you were born to be loved” is reminded to us almost daily. And when we accept His immense love for us, we are able to pour it out onto others from the overflow. Wow. What an incredible Father we have. A Father that made us solely so that He could have more to love. A Father that asks us to just be still. To sit in His presence with Him. A Father that sees our struggles, cries with us over them, yet asks us to press on because He can see what is waiting on the other side, even when we can’t. If I could encourage you with just one thing that I have been learning here at G42, it would be to just abide in His ever loving embrace. Just sit and be still. To listen to His whispers in the silence and know that we don’t have to “fix” anything because as long as we are in pursuit of Him, nothing else matters. Thank you to everyone for your support thus far! The Lord’s provision through you has been overwhelming and humbling. However, I am currently still in need of $4,000 to be fully funded, so if you would like to partner with me, contact me or click the “donate” tab at the top of the page. Love, Hannah |