Wednesday, January 15, 2014

This picture makes me smile....

.....my husband, Jeff in Uganda holding two little girls being adopted by two American families...


Wednesday, October 30, 2013


When God hands me His Word through the voice of someone who says it so well, it has to be shared.
I can't keep this all to myself.
I'm generous like that.

"God has frequently to knock the bottom board out of your experience in order to get you into contact with Himself.

Faith by its very nature must be tried, and the real trial of faith is not that we find it difficult to trust God, but that God's character has to be cleared in our own mind.
Faith in its actual working out has to go through spells of unsyllabled isolation. Never confound the trial of faith with the ordinary discipline of life. Much that we call the trial of faith is the inevitable result of being alive.

Faith in the Bible is faith in God against everything that contradicts Him--I will remain true to God's character whatever He may do. 'Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him'--this is the most sublime utterance of faith in the whole of the Bible."

~Oswald Chambers~

For the record, I had to look up the word "sublime": -of such excellence, grandeur or beauty as to inspire great admiration or awe.

Tuesday, October 1, 2013

Stand Still

Relentless Love....

Coming and going....

Like the waves that roll up on a rocky beach in Maine.

And when the tide is coming in, the water of those waves comes closer and closer to where I am standing.

Almost touching my bare feet.



Not quite.

But it will.


If I stand still long enough.

The water will reach me.


To Be Continued......














Wednesday, March 20, 2013

Romania Bound!


My son, Zachary, is a junior at Malone University in Canton, Ohio majoring in social work and English and he has joined a team of fellow students and professors who are traveling to Sighisora, Romania from May 16th to June 6th!

This mission will enable Zachary and his teammates to work alongside Veritas with many opportunities to serve needy and at-risk children and youth, disadvantaged elderly, and people of all ages with disabilities. At the Veritas website you must click on the British flag in the upper right hand corner to read through the site in English!

He will be staying with host families in Romania and have the opportunity to get to know them personally. This trip is a perfect fit for him as he loves interacting with people! Projects and activities will include after school programs, home visits, an elderly club, public school English classes and work projects at various sites.

This is Zachary's first missions trip out of the country and he.....is.....EXCITED! His team has been working hard to sell candy and sandwiches around campus to raise funds for this mission. We are also having a ham and chicken pot-pie dinner on April 27th at our church and Zach will be there ready to serve you!

He needs 2,500 dollars to reach his goal to cover his costs of travel and in country expenses. If you can't make it to the dinner and would love to help a young college student step into serving the people of Romania, please donate HERE! 


As his parents we are proud of Zachary and his heart for people of all walks of life and for God. Thanks SO much for giving towards this trip and for your friendship and love towards our family!



Monday, March 4, 2013

"I Am Not Shy..."

  Eleven year-old Wamaitha  is one of the children I sponsor in Kenya through Compassion International. This little girl came into my life at a time when I was NOT looking for another child to add to my Compassion family. I was instead heavily involved in advocating for Compassion and seeking to get others involved with this ministry. Michelle Wright from Blogging From The Boonies and a fellow advocate for Compassion, posted a challenge on Facebook to go to the website, find a child who had been waiting longer than six months and then share that child through social media in hopes to find them a sponsor.

I took that challenge, clicked the link to waiting children, and there she was. Bilha Wamaitha. Age ten. Kenya. Waiting for a total of 780 days (which I calculated after discussing her history on the phone with a CI representative.) The plan was to post her profile to FB and reel in a wonderful friend and sponsor for her. And instead she became mine.

I don't really know what it was........the red socks......her shy countenance......her long wait......God's insistence....

I just knew that this one was my girl and there was no way I was going to be able to actively look for a sponsor for her. She was already home.

I have received several letters from her and her personality has been developing as we correspond back and forth. I just love these little details she has given me...

"Personally I am not shy but I don't like talking in public."
"My dad washes cars for others and earns money to feed us."
"I fear being extracted a tooth."
"I am afraid of mosquitoes which cause malaria."
"I would like to visit you in your country."

Recently I was given the opportunity to send her a gift....whatever I could fit in a gallon-sized zip-loc bag.....to travel with a fellow Compassion sponsor on her trip to Kenya. This is an incredible opportunity as we are not allowed to mail packages to our kids due to mailing restrictions. The only way to send them something other than flat paper items is to travel a million miles TO your child, or send something with someone else who is going that way!

One word.....RARE.

So I knew I wanted her to have a doll. And the doll needed to have a few outfits. I also stuffed a few clothing items in for Wamaitha and some candy to fill up the small pockets of air left. I could barely zip-loc it, but I got it closed, mailed it off to my traveling friend.......and completely forgot I ever sent it.

Until Saturday when I opened my mailbox and found a letter from Wamaitha with this picture of her with her new doll.

In her letter she thanks me for the "beautiful gift which made me so happy" and she tells me she named her doll Julie Wambui.
 I like that.
 It rhymes.
But what I love most is that SMILE.

She also drew me this picture of a helicopter which I thought was pretty impressive!


  YOU have that same opportunity to bring light and hope and joy into a child's life. I am positive that the smile is there whenever she receives a letter from me......that a gift is not a necessary part of the equation. I can't close this without inviting you to join me in Changing The Story for one needy child through Compassion International. 

Leave me a comment if you do decide to get involved as I'd love to hear about it! 







 

Tuesday, January 1, 2013

Shafik

The Good Samaritan Children's Home in Uganda was my home away from home for almost two weeks in September of 2012. This orphanage houses a family of children and volunteers who grabbed me by the hand and plucked me from the dusty taxi that delivered me from the airport, straight into their bustling, chaotic, joyful lives without a chance for me to even straighten my rumpled, travel-worn skirt.

There were very few introductions. I was family now and everyone called me "Mum" or "Mummy Julie".

 The children filled every vacancy on the personality spectrum: Edith was the perfect hostess, carrying my bags, smoothing my blanket-covered mattress and smiling shyly when I offered her a stick of melted gum. Jonothan ran circles around me and darted in front of my camera lens with his tongue hanging out. This made his friends giggle which only encouraged his antics to a new level of little-boy clown acts. And Sharon was like a little rabbit....curious about my fly-away hair and white legs, even sniffing me from time to time, but off and running if I let on that I was aware of her hand on my arm or her fingers touching the beads of my bracelet. If I ignored her, she continued her exploration. If I turned my head towards her she was gone, often in a fit of laughter with her girlfriends trailing behind, in awe of her bravery.

And then there was Shafik.

He caught my attention amidst all of the chatter and giggles,

 and the little hands grabbing onto mine,

 and all of the looks in my direction, of amazement and wonder mixed with healthy doses of caution.

I noticed Shafik because he refused to notice me.

I watched him often from my first day there. Studied him because he carried himself so differently from the rest; head down, shoulders hunched, his sandal-clad feet producing a slow shuffle on his way from one random point to another. Everything about him was drawn in. Like nobody was home in his little body. And no one was welcome to knock, either.

He reminded me of myself.

And for that reason I wanted to know more about him.

I inquired about the little three-year-old who wandered the courtyard.

"Who, Shafik? He's not three. He is five years old. Here, let me show you some photos."

And they placed in my hand a stack of images that made everything going on around me kind of fade into black and white.

This first photo showed the place where the Ugandan authorities found and rescued Shafik, from adults who were withholding clothes, warmth, food and of course dignity and love. He was covered in filth and waste from his own body and from the pigs that were sharing the same space with him. Shafik was literally eating dirt to survive.
 His guardians were arrested and Shafik was taken into custody and later placed in the care of the Good Samaritan Children's Home. When they brought him to the orphanage he continued to pluck away at and eat dirt until he realized that warm posho and beans were served daily in this strange but safe place.

His body bore the marks not only of malnutrition, but also savage abuse, no doubt at the hands of his "caregivers". I know little more about his story. How long had he been mistreated this way? Where were his parents? How did the authorities become aware of his need for rescue?

 This little boy had every right to be withdrawn and guarded. I felt like I understood now why he seemed like he was perpetually lost. Achingly alone. A backpack full of wrongs done to him hanging off his shoulders. I didn't need any more evidence to convince me of his "victim" status.


With those photos in my hand, I stepped towards the window that looked out onto the courtyard full of children. And this time I saw Shafik , who was unaware that I was watching him, laughing with another little boy over a piece of trash that they had turned into some form of entertainment. His teeth were rotten, but he had a fantastic smile, made even more brilliant by what I now knew about his story. His movements were animated as he ran his "toy" up and down the sides of a low wall, speaking and pointing in a flurry of Ugandan commands and shouts of glee.


I stepped outside, mesmerized by this sudden display of life from Shafik. His eyes flickered up momentarily to mine and then the shades went down, removing his welcome sign from the front door.

I knelt down and spoke to him in English, telling him that I liked his pink sandals and touching his head with a gentle pat. Everything about him said, "You cannot be trusted. I have no idea why you are here but I hope you go home soon."


I knew then that I was looking at a bodily representation of my own heart. The way that I withhold the best of me for a select few, not trusting that there is ever a safe place to relax and just be. And it's one thing to know that I have issues with trust, but another thing entirely to kneel in the dirt and see myself in living color in the form of an African orphan.

God knows how to get my full attention.

He had me in a place where my heart was already overwhelmed with His love for these children and I was in no position to argue with the message He was folding up and quietly tucking under my door.

"Let me love you."

That evening I ended up in the Baby House where the government children, those recently removed from their homes because of neglect or abuse or abandonment, were filing in for their nightly scrub down. I was ushered into a back room and handed a stack of towels and a small jar of Vaseline. As the children came from being doused with cold water, a quick lathering of soap, and a thorough rinse, my job was to towel them dry, apply that Vaseline from head to toe and help them into their night clothes. (Usually these were the same clothes they had worn that day and the day before. Sometimes something stiff and clean, albeit for the opposite gender, from the clothesline.)

Shafik was among the huddled children waiting in line for my attention. They were getting scrubbed and rinsed faster than I could dry, grease and dress.

He hesitated when he saw me and his eyes widened but the house mother urged him forward with a less than gentle nudge.

I can't even begin to give words to what transpired in the next few minutes. Here was Shafik with no choice but to allow me to help him get ready for bed. I don't know how either of us got through the towel drying, and the putting on of Vaseline and then night clothes. I was aware of every jagged line and scar on his head and back and I was as careful as I could possibly be. His bloated belly was in sharp contrast to his thin arms and legs. He kept his head down and his eyes locked onto the floor.I was astounded at both his bravery and the almost tangible walls this kid had constructed. The other children around us were in constant motion; grabbing towels from each other in a playful way, helping each other find their missing socks, chanting out little songs and sitting next to me on the bed, giggling.

With every moment that I had with Shafik there in that room, I purposefully tried to convey safety and love.

 I only had a few minutes.

 I spoke to him quietly, knowing that he probably did not understand my accented English, but speaking it out loud anyways. " Shafik, you are a good, good boy. You have a lot of friends here who are looking out for you now. I hope you sleep really well tonight. I love you.".

I kissed the top of his bristly head.

And when it was time for him to move on to make way for the next child......

 Shafik stood still.

So I took a risk....

slowly lifted him onto my lap

 and instinctively began to rock him.

The other children stopped to watch this unusual exchange. Some of the boys snickered while the majority of the kids just stood at my side, watching, and kind of rocking along with me. Shafik let his head rest on my shoulder. His body relaxed just enough for me to take notice.

"Let me love you."

It was the same message from a God who, I was understanding, wanted my trust as much as I wanted Shafik's. A God who sees our suffering and our wounds and our fears and never stops waiting nearby for us to let Him hold us.

"To do for yourself the best that you have it in you to do- to grit your teeth and clench your fists in order to survive the world at its harshest and worst-is, by that very act, to be unable to let something be done for you and in you that is more wonderful still. The trouble with steeling yourself against the harshness of reality is that the same steel that secures your life against being destroyed secures your life also against being opened up and transformed." Frederick Buechner

The very next day and every day after that, Shafik took every opportunity to show up beside me. He never made himself known or asked to be held. He just kind of backed up to me and stood still.

 Waiting.

And I held him every time.

"He reached down from on high and took hold of me; he drew me out of deep waters.....He brought me out into a spacious place; he rescued me because he delighted in me." Psalm 18: 16, 19

 I could tell this was a new experience for him. That he was still unsure, but it felt good enough to return for more.

He began to come in first for bath time and bedtime. And he looked me in the eye and smiled.

He invited me in.

"It might come as a surprise that Christ asks our permission to come in and heal, but He is kind, and the door is shut from the inside, and healing never comes against our will. In order to experience His healing, we must also give Him permission to come in to the places we have so long shut to anyone. He knocks through our loneliness. He knocks through our sorrows. He knocks through events that feel too close to what happened to us when we were young...a betrayal, a rejection, a word spoken, a relationship lost. He knocks through many things, waiting for us to give Him permission to enter in." John Eldredge

Shafik is leading the way for me.

And maybe it is the way for you, too.

A little boy who recognizes that despite his experiences and scars, there is still a safe place to be found. That he is loved. That it's okay to look up.









Thursday, December 27, 2012

More To Say

   Anyone who knows me well knows that I enjoy putting pen to paper. I make lists, plan parties, set goals and write my thoughts into half-filled journals scattered throughout the house. You can't get past my kitchen without seeing something scrawled in my hand on random pieces of notebook paper, receipts, envelopes and post-its. And I'd much rather write with a pen than type on a keyboard. But even typing gives me another outlet for writing that brings me a sense of satisfaction and accomplishment that I can't seem to find anywhere else.

   For me, the past three months, maybe even four, have produced little as far as the written word goes. Especially when I look at my journals and this blog, showing a major slow down in entries and posts. I think I can easily track the shift to my return from Africa and the founding of Love Mercy Uganda, which is a bit of a head-scratcher, since that trip and those experiences and this new mission have more than saturated my heart with enough material to write a book. The big, thick, door stopper kind of book.

   Maybe there is just too much this time to lay it out there for you guys to get a real sense of what happened...or of what IS happening. I struggle myself to keep up with what God is speaking and orchestrating and unveiling, and even then it's not all on stage or in the wind and the earthquake and the fire, but in that still small voice of His that roots me to doing nothing but sitting still. And I don't get much writing done that way. 

   I write standing up, shifting from one foot to another, or on my way from the mop bucket to the toilet brush and even while I'm driving. I write in my head while I'm out shoveling snow or walking to the mailbox.

  Sometimes I'm sitting....but not much comes out when I TRY to write. 

   But I'm here at Come To My Rescue because I sense a shift that has occurred somewhere along the way that is allowing me to write again. I am an extreme editor of anything that I publish, always wanting to make sure I say it right and say it well or not say it at all. And I don't think that is going to change.

  But what might change is how much of me I allow into my writing.

  Because I have changed.

  And the lenses that I see the world through have been upgraded to a new prescription.

  It's hard to say whether you'll notice the difference or not.

  What matters I guess is that I have more to say. More to tell you. And my voice is more my own now. Or better yet, I'm more of who He intended me to be from the beginning.

   I'm looking forward to writing from this new place I'm in and letting Him use what I often see as rubble from a torn down, abandoned warehouse, but what He has clearly shown me to be some pretty valuable building material.

   I'm intent on cooperating with Him.

   Some of you will know exactly what I mean. The rest of you can catch up as we go along.

   Stay tuned for Anna's story. An abandoned one-year-old girl from the streets of Uganda who God is using to fit me with those world-altering new glasses I told you about.....who fulfilled a promise from a God I still haven't figured out....

   And Shafik.....a little boy who refused to give me anything but a backward glance and downcast eyes.....who reminds me every day what it means to take a risk.....to forgive......to look up.

   Both of these stories I thought were mine to keep. Stories too personal and telling for me to publish. But they are on the edge of my writing heart and they are meant to be shared, not hoarded.

   He has once again......Come To My Rescue.