Friday

Friday, the 28th

Father wanted us up and ready by Friday at 9 so that we could go and figure out what needed to be done.  Our hearing was at noon, so we just kind of hung out.  I knew I needed a place to stay in the capital for the week so I could get the passport started and get my bearings straight on what needs to be done, if in fact they rule in our favor.

We did a few touristy things, like go to the craft market while we sat around and waited for our ruling to be announced.  I had ended up finally getting in contact with someone at 882 Terrace, a hopefully quaint and small bed and breakfast, close to everything in the Capital.  But this, like the Emmaus house was suggested to us, so I will not know for a few days if it was all that people said it was.  Our last suggestion that we tried was a disaster.  I ended up telling the lady over the phone that I would be there in a minute to check the place out.  Father Michael agreed that the safety and security seemed fine, but that I should call him if anything is amiss and he will come and save me from my stupid mistakes.

After dumping all of our bags, we drove around so Paul could witness real traffic.  We stopped to get gas, and then went back to Café Javas for lunch – Paul’s last real meal for 2 days as he goes home.  While we were there, we were all anxiously checking out phones for a message or text from Linda or Isaac.   I actually was not worried about being given Michael.  I was just confident that it would happen.  I was more upset about Paul leaving me here in Uganda for the next up to 10-12 weeks.  Please, dear God, forbid it last that long.  But it very well could, so my job is to put on a straight face.

The worst part was when I called to tell the kids that we got Michael, and I heard Anna’s sweet little voice yelling, “I love you mommy, I miss you mommy, come home mommy.”  I was caught between wanting to just hang up because every time I hear it, it is like my heart being ripped out, and wanting to just sob and punch Paul in the face and steal his ticket and head to the car that was waiting for him in the parking lot.  Yes, he needs to get back to his paying job – I am just the silly girl that plays homemaker, but Anna wants her mom.  That should count for something.

And I knew this day would come, but I just refused to think about it.  Alone, with a child who likes Paul more than me, in a place I do not know, with no transportation of my own, at the whim and will of a government whose language I do not understand, from a country that just threatened to pull aid from the country that I am currently in.  I am in a country that signed an anti-pornography law last year that is completely open ended, and have been reading in the paper how women, by themselves, are being assaulted by cops if their attitude or clothing was in the least bit suggestive, and they do not have to have a reason.  Women are having all of their clothes ripped off on street corners because they are dressing to elicit reactions from men, and then beaten.  I know chances are small that this could happen, that people could retaliate for our own government’s policy, could threaten to do me harm, but I have absolutely no safety net.  Nobody who can talk me in or out of anything like Father Michael could.  Nobody bigger and stronger like Paul. 

I am alone, and that terrifies me. I throw up every day, or spend the day feeling completely sick.  To avoid being sick while we are driving around, where there are no bathrooms, I avoid eating and drinking until early morning or at night.  The lack of eating and drinking during the day on top of how loud Uganda is at night (if not the birds and insects, then the parties and gatherings) leaves me tired.  But here I am caring for a child I cannot communicate with, in a hot sweaty hotel room, with my stomach churning.

Notes from my prayer journal:  I think it speaks for itself, there are non thoughts that are too glamorous on this day.

“Do not despise he Lord’s discipline and do not resent his rebuke, because the Lord disciplines those He loves, as a father the son delights in.”

-Proverbs 3:11-12

Soundtrack song of the day:   Let her go – Passenger
Consecration to Jesus through the Immaculate Heart of Mary, Who are you, O Immaculate Conception, part 1, Day 9

Fr. Michael was right and wrong. Benny will be a child of the people, Auburn and Alabama. This is his orange and blue elephant from the craft market. He rid receive a rather embarrassing injury when Benny Michael decided that tails are for sissy elephants, and off it came.

Letter to myself

I know that I should be able to do this.  But having Paul here has been so nice, and it is the no known end date that breaks me – kills me really.  I am a doer.  I need a to-do list, goals, deadlines, etc.  Not having a deadline leaves my poor ADD brain in a spin zone and there is nothing to brace it down.  I cannot cope with no focus, without a calendar full of “Due By” dates. 

So in order to cope, and organize my brain, I wrote a letter to myself, after Paul left.

Dear Pansy Whiner

Who in their right mind let whiner Allison out of the freaking box?  Oh, is she the one puking right now?!?  Well how about this…how about you switch places?  I want the bad ass who was like, “Go to Africa? Yes Please!!!”

I do not want the girl that can’t stop boo-hooing that she is all alone, that she misses her babies, that she will be here forever.  So what if your husband could not have been happier to leave, and that he gets to be with the kids at home, while you are here.  Sure, he gets hugs and kisses and be cuddled, but you get malaria pills and protein bars and a child that won’t say mommy and that likes to smack you. 

That Allison, the PA loser Allison needs to be the one getting sick.  She is an embarrassment to Universal Mortification.  Your job is to take all of this garbage, and these feelings and offer it up, not sit in front of your computer screen with sad pathetic tears rolling down your already sweat stained cheeks. You are supposed to take all of these horrible feelings and look up to God and smile and say thank you for these awesome crosses that show just how much faith you have in me. 

You see that puff cheeked doll who is laying on the bed?!?  That is your reward.  That book of prayer intentions in your back pack?!?  That is your reward.  Any sacrifice offered to glorify the kingdom of God shall be met with an even greater reward so stop being a whiny little baby, pull up your big girl pants, wipe off your disgustingly dirty face, reapply your mosquito spray, take your puke pill and shut the hell up.  What a completely pathetic waste you will turn out to be if you ruin this time to bond with Michael, to offer up your sufferings for others.  Why waste your love and quiet time on being insanely jealous of your husband and his ticket home.  So what if you feel empty without him, and your children here?  Use that to release a thousand souls from purgatory!!! 

Go ahead and pray your chaplet at 3 PM every day.  Beg God to make this time short and effectual.  But in the meantime, do some good with the time you have.  Everything is a gift from Him.  You MUST see the remainder of this trip as just that.  Praise Him for His wisdom.  Next time you throw up, look up and say “Thank you, can I please do this again tomorrow?”  Easier said than done, but this is the only way you will survive and stay sane.

Paul and your children need you to get through this.  People are counting on your prayers and your sacrifices.  Stay focused on Him and His will and you will be done soon.

Love

Your cuter, smarter self

“You will keep in perfect peace, him whose mind is steadfast, because he trusts in you.”

-Isaiah 26:3

Thursday

Thursday, the 27th

There is a certain kind of eery that falls upon Masaka when the skies go dark.  This morning, there is a thick heavy black curtain weighing upon the land as we traverse dark dirt roads, headed to Paul’s first safari.  The air is wet and thick, and almost foggy.  As we bounce along the roads, dark figures loom along the sides, not headless horsemen, rather faceless boda boda drivers, honking their presence.  As we turn corners, headlights illuminate a sea of tiny dark faces, white eyes adjusting to the sudden light.  School children carrying lunch boxes with freshly cleaned school uniforms march in straight rows, only their memory of the roads light their paths.

A sleepy Benny Michael rests next to me, the early rise, and the bouncing car put up too much of a fight for him to handle.  His fat little fingers clutch a cold metal car, while his head bobs against the seatbelt that barely registers his presence.

The rest of us stare into the dark sky, focusing on the red tail lights that dance in front of us.  Soon, the noises will fill the air as the skies turn a shade of purple and pink – the sun mixing its rays with the dust and smog on the horizon.  Soon, Masaka will be awake again, and the days shall flow on.

And as the light creeps across the land, I cannot help but wonder what goes through the minds of these little tiny people marching across the lands headed off to an education that is their only hope at a better future.  Some tiny little 4 year olds, carrying a lunch pail, and a yellow jug of water that stands taller than their waste.  Some tiny people walk in pairs of 2 or 3, while others march on alone.  I cannot fathom sending Maria off, to stomp tread along the freeway by herself – no protection or guidance, no watchful eye, no sweet words to guide her.  Old children stop and gather fire wood along their way to school, having to cook their lunch themselves.  Do I trust Matt and Gabe with a machete, along the side of Highway 65, during rush hour, in the dark?  Am I ready to send of Michael and Kolbe to a year-round boarding school, to learn and grow alongside 1500 other students, with no mothering or nurturing or sage advice and daily conversations?

These mothers must be stronger than I am, but I would not want to be that strong.  I lack faith that they would be ok and my heart would simply refuse to let go.  These children, the hundred or more that I have seen this morning, must be the strongest, both emotionally and physically, that I have ever seen.  They teach each other how to act, how to survive, what to do in the face of fear and danger.  They teach each other how to get from point A to point B without disappearing into the fog, never to be seen again.  I know that it is out of necessity that these children march on alone, but that does not ease this pain I feel.  Are they not lonely, worried, or scared?  Do they talk to Jesus the whole way to school, their guardian angels keeping them from being kidnapped, or hit, or injured, or beat up?  Obviously they are ok.  Thousands of children make a similar trek every day, across the country, and probably the world.  I am thankful for their safety and thank God for His wisdom and for protection over His holy innocents.

---

Halfway to the safari on Thursday, I got an email from the Embassy saying that Paul did not need to be there for the signing of the documents.  As long as we had a notarized copy of the passport, then we should be good and Paul could leave.  So I was talking to Paul about him going him on Saturday or Sunday, but he as pretty excited about leaving “tonight or tomorrow?!?”  I will tell you that I was pretty hurt that he was so excited to get rid of me that quickly.  I told Ann to save my husband, and get him home ASAP, and like a champ, she worked her magic, and within a little bit, we had tickets for Paul to leave Friday night. 

The whole time that we drove to Mbaro Park and toured the lake, and went on safari which took several hours, I was pretty upset.  Well that, and I did not feel well.  I have been getting sick every single day that I have been here, and I can only blame it on the malaria meds.  Either way, all I could think is, “Wow, I think that I am offended.”  We came back into Masaka just long enough to pick up cash and our bags before heading back into the capital, which was probably a good thing.  We were all so worn out and stressed for Friday that Father just dropped us off at the Metropole and he headed off to some friends he has in the city. 

The Metropole is one of the nicer hotels that you can go to in the Capital.  It has several things that we have not seen in about a week and a half; showers, hot water, a fridge, tv, clean sheets, air conditioning.  I thought it best that Paul stay somewhere nice the night before he goes back so he can get cleaned up and slightly adjusted.  Every time I walk in the doors though I feel weird.  The hotel itself is a nice structure, very Euro-Asian’esque.  Jeff, Nap and I had stayed there before and Nap had a bunch of money stolen out of his safe, so however unsafe and angry I feel every time I go in there, I figured that I could suck it up for a night.

They do have a higher end Thai restaurant on their 1^st floor, so that is where we had dinner.  The food was ok and the service was slower than anything.  Our starter took an hour, our dinner came 30 minutes after that, and the nasty thing that was supposed to be Tiramisu showed up 30 minutes after our dinner plates were cleared.  I guess I should not have even tried to get Paul a good meal to end his trip here.  Michael had fallen asleep on my lap, so Paul carried him upstairs and we just fell asleep.

Notes from my prayer journal:  Paul might be leaving me much sooner than expected.  I feel like I am flailing, turning towards jealousy and anger and sadness. 

“Yet I am always with you, you hold me by my right hand.”

-Psalm 73:23

“No temptation has seized you except what is common to man. And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear.  But when you are tempted, he will also provide you a way out so that you can stand up under it.”

-1 Corinthians 10:13

Soundtrack song of the day – while we were riding around Kampala, Father heard this song, and asked who it was.  The song was No Air – Jordin Sparks.  I remember that for some reason I really loved the song when it came out, and now that I heard it again, t kid of summed up that particular day.  “How, do you expect me, to live alone, just me (in Africa, with Michael, and no help for God knows how long), it’s just so hard for me to breath.  Ah ha ha.  If I really let myself believe that, and accept that for truth, I would e failing at the mission that God set out before me, “I will make things hard, I will tempt you and test you, and I will ask you to persevere out of love for me, and for the intentions and sufferings of others.”

Consecration to Jesus through the Immaculate Heart of Mary, Who are you St. Maximilian Kolbe, Day 8

Wednesday

Wednesday, the 26th

We move so much slower in Uganda. In a land that has so much to offer, things move so much slower.  Maybe it is the lack of vision, or the desire to not be disappointed.  Maybe it is that the whole land is conversing with God, waiting to be given instructions, filled with a peace and acceptance of the pace, and of the ebb and flow of their journey here on earth. 

We had a slow and quiet day today, the rain and cool breeze cocooned around us.  Our windows open to allow the breeze to remove the sleep and heat and stagnation from our room, our bones, and our minds. Our only task for the day was to meet with some representatives of the Diocesan Youth Office – 2 I have known for a few years, 1 I just met.  The youth office in Masaka is over run, so many youth, a huge landscape, and no funds.  Anawim Uganda, in the US, has spent the last several years funding the works and activities of this office, and of Father Michael through bringing Father to the US so he can fund raise.  Now that Father is in his own parish, doing the same activities, but on an even larger scale much further away from a vibrant active city, we need to blaze new paths.  Now we are constructing new inlets and roads into the land in order to reach more youth and bring Christ to the people who seek peace and satisfaction and fulfillment.

Our meeting was both an introduction and a revisiting of the old and new projects, a refocusing of our mission here now, and our goals and projects for the future.  I spent a great deal of time just asking questions about the needs of the youth in the Masaka Diocese; counseling, food projects, technical training, jobs, self-sustainability, project reliability.  The needs are ever changing, new groups of well- meaning muzungos come in and start projects, but never stick around to see what works.  They fail because of consistent funding and lack of personal investment.  The people of Uganda do not want your money, they need it.  What they want is your time and energy, a personal relationship, to feel connected to people who care and share their own vision for their country.

The rest of the day was just that – a rest.  We packed up bags, knowing that Friday we will be back in Kampala, and Paul will be leaving me here some-time this week.  We sat together, Benny, Paul and I, on the bed, a teeny tiny half of a much larger and more vibrant family, savoring last moments of peace and quiet before rushing into the Capital, to slam our head against walls, wait in long lines, and deal with “lost” or inadequate paperwork.  I know what awaits us there, and there is nothing I can do about it.  So I sit here in the rest and quiet and I praise God for His Will.  I praise Him for the noise, and anxiety that will soon be here, for the restlessness, the sadness, the absence.  I praise Him for the strength I do not have, for I know He will give it to me.  I thank Him for the work that has been done in me, and for all of the work that He will do.

Part of me fights this acceptance.  My “Cali” as dear friends call it refuses to be quiet.  It struggles against acceptance – it wants to fight, kick and scream, get mad, get anxious, cry over things that we have no power over.  Acceptance feels a lot like giving up.  My Cali hates this patience that I am reaching for – “Nothing gets done if you are patient.  Go and make things happen.  Tell her to shut up.  Tell her to stay out of our business.  You deserve to act high and mighty because you deserve better than no power and cold showers and the same potatoes for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, every single day.”  The devil is on the cusp of my mind screaming his angst against my acceptance of His will.  He mocks it in my voice, begging me to question every feeling and emotion that I have embraced.  The king of lies, of fear, of anxiety, of jealousy and despair sits and waits for me to lose focus, waits for me to be tired and alone and then he tightens his grip.  I am still strong though.

Not today.

Notes from my prayer journal:  The law of caring for the orphan and widow was set before us in Deuteronomy.  His law, pushed and promoted so well in Christian and Evangelical churches seems lost to us in the Catholic churches I have been to.  90% of all of the adoption grants available that I looked at are provided through Christian non -profit organizations, and each one said, “How much money does your church set aside or give out to families who are adopting?”  This is a whole church mandate that the Lord put before us, and we kind of pawn it off on Catholic Social Services – give them some money and then we can say that we are supporting the widow and taking care of orphans.  In two different phone interviews for two grants, when asked my church affiliation, and I said Catholic, they responded, with a smirk I could almost hear, “Oh, so that is why there is no orphan fund established through your church.”  It was like a slap in the face, like “Oh, you are Catholic, so you do not obey God’s commands”, or “Oh, that’s right, Catholics take the Mass seriously, and then leave and feel as though their faith duties have been fulfilled.”  Yuck.  It left me with such a bad taste in my mouth.  I was embarrassed by the attitude that many people had towards the Catholic faith like it is somehow more callous and less supportive of the weak and suffering in the world.  And we can look at stats and figures of the social work system, the education system, and the fact that the Catholic church is the largest supplier of financial aid in need in the world, but we lack focus locally, in our own parishes.  

Sure, if there is a war or natural disaster, the Church donates, and rushes to the scene, but there are children and elderly suffering locally, daily, and we seem a little blind to it.  The same goes for the Church in Uganda.  Meeting tons of different types of Christian here, they all have the same opinion or our faith and our church.  All of the aid organizations, run by youn vibrant people here almost mock Father and I as we talk to them about what we do.  “The only people that come here and do long lasting things are your nuns and missionary priests – you write checks to them to absolve you from any duty to serve.  Sure, not everyone can come here and work, but we would like to see just a few of you show up once in awhile and commit to relationships not just check writing.”  Ugh.  It is embarrassing.  Just a thought, and my prayer focus for the day – that those who are invisible, and their pain, are made visible to us in our city and community – that God stirs our souls to their needs.  (And no, we did not receive a grant, which was really hard and disappointing.)

“Lean on, trust in, and be confident in the Lord with all your heart and mind and do not rely on your own insight or understanding. In all your ways, know, serve, recognize and acknowledge Him, and He will direct and make straight and plain your paths.”

Proverbs 3:5-6

Soundtrack song of the day:  Lavender Hill, Brian Crain
Consecration to Jesus through the Immaculate Heart of Mary, A quick, easy, and secure way to Holiness, Day 7

Tuesday

Tuesday, the 25^th

“We are the smart and organized students of Primary 2. We welcome you,” sweet little voices call out as they seat themselves back onto the dirt and rock floor of their classroom.  Each classroom was similar – happy eager faces awaiting our arrival, welcoming us in unison, announcing their class and the time or feeling.  “We welcome you to Primary 6. Thank you for visiting us here today!”

I am in love with this school.  I have seen many beautiful schools, but this one has my heart.  The owner of the school built it up on the land that he inherited from his father.  Arthur is a product of Father Michael’s system of faith and work and love.  Father Michael befriended him, they learned from each other, Fr. Michael supported him throughout his journey, and Arthur came into adulthood, and wanted to support and love people in the same manner.

So Arthur owns and runs the school New Red Star, but he does so much more.  He is creative, warm, smart, organized.  All of his people are divided up into rooms, some rooms housing 3 grades.  Out of all of his many students, h was 36 orphans, up from the 24 he had last year.  He even houses and cares for 8 orphans himself – they sleep in rooming quarters right there on the premises – a boys room and a girls room (as you can see here, they decorated pictures for us to see when we toured their rooms.) 

Their kitchen, which was destroyed last year, was rebuilt with funds from Nap and Jeff and I, as well as tuitions and salaries paid.  It is amazing what this man can do with so little money.  His needs are extensive; a new boda boda, a new row of classrooms, money to help with teachers saralies to cover the number of non-paying orphans.  He showed me a book where he keeps track of debtors – rows of names of people who he allows to attend his school even though they are behind 2 terms worth of payments.  He understands the value of education, the necessity for it in the lives of the people in his village, so he chooses to struggle financially instead of emotionally.

Montgomery Catholic has been raising money for this school, the Butebere school, and Father Michael’s ministry and work for an entire school year, and now I get the pleasure of handing it out to the schools and watching the amazing work that Arthur can do with his donations.  I started out by giving him the $3000 in schillings and told him how proud of his work we were and how thankful we were that he had such a big heart.  He was so excited for the gift, and the encouragement, and I hope that this is a partnership that can continue.

We were supposed to be out there first thing in the morning so that I could help Arthur teach some classes.  I was truly excited about this project, and had designed two curriculums to teach – one on Saints and one on Lent.  But alas, the very sweet man who was supposed to bring us all of the way out there got a flat tire, and by the time we arrived, it was almost noon.  I explained the two lessons in detail to Arthur, left him with all of the supplies, beads, string, papers, markers, flash cards, pencils, sharpeners, erasers and more. 

The children performed many welcoming songs and dances, and Paul was shocked I think by the amazing rhythm and dance and the boys one the drums.  Michael ran around like a wild child, tried to hit the drums in the middle of songs, and kept trying to steal candy from my bag, but all in all, it was ok.  After the songs, Paul addressed the group and was translated.  We passed out pencils and candies to every child, and then we passed out special cross necklaces to the top performers in each class – the children with the best grades, behavior, etc.  This was something new that I wanted to do, and I think it was successful.  They were all very proud of their award, and the kids might just be envious enough to work hard and to get one the next time a muzungo from Anawim comes to visit.

We went home for Michael to take a nap, which meant that Paul and Michael get to go to sleep for a few hours.  It is in the quiet time of being here, when Paul is asleep with Michael in the midafternoon that I read sweet messages from my children, when I can depart from my brave face, and crack open the gates to let the trickles of sadness seep out.  My children are truly the only thing that I have and do during the day that keeps me focused and energized – every group I’m involved with, board I sit on, or organization I volunteer for is for them and Him.  Without this direction, I feel a bit lost.

Notes from my prayer journal:  Today, after having been to Arthur’s school again, I want to take a moment to thank God for the school we have at Holy Spirit.  Nothing is perfect, but I cannot imagine my children being in better hands while I am way, and they are in school.  Where else could I email the teachers, explain what was going on, and feel confident that they know my children well enough to provide help and support to them if they were having troubles coping.  I am not worried about them being upset at school, because I know that if they are, there are people there who can identify that and give them a hug or pat on the back and love on them.  There has never been a place where I have felt that amount of safety.

“In everything, give thanks, for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.”

1 Thessalonians 5:18

Soundtrack song of the day: San Francisco, The Mowglis

Consecration to Jesus through the Immaculate Heart of Mary, Should we really give Mary everything, Day 6

Monday

Monday, the 24th

Our Monday began again with still no power.  If we are to get power consistently, it is at night, but even then, it comes and goes.  I might sit down to call the children, and it goes out.  And then it comes on as soon as they leave for school, and then it is out all day.  And then when I am ready to post my blog it is on, but while it is uploading it goes out.  We are pretty used to it though, and now are pleasantly surprised when we have power.  I would say that I am even used to several things by now, like using hand sanitizer after I wash and dry my hands.

We spent the morning just gearing up for the week.  Father Michael had told us that today would be a free day.  Paul had hoped to conquer work emails but we had no power and his email system for work needs a laptop or desktop with internet, not a tablet.  He was going to get Benny out of the hotel room and out to play soccer, but it had rained a great deal during the night and this morning, so that idea went out the window.  I packed up the toys and school supplies that we were supposed to bring to Arthur’s school on Tuesday, but because it was overcast, it was difficult to see anything in the room in great detail. 

And suddenly, out of nowhere, Father Michael appeared, a knight in a white Land Cruiser, to steal us away.  Originally, we were just going to run to the gas station and get waters, and then we were just going to run and get gifts for the women in Paul’s office.  But while we were at Café Frikenellen shopping in the Children’s Crafts store, we were introduced to a woman named Brenda, who was a friend of Fr. Michael’s.  Brenda works for an NGO that runs orphanages and child sponsorship programs throughout Uganda.  She used to work with World Vision as well.  Father thought it might be best if we ask her some questions about orphanages and adoption in Uganda, and then asked her to let us go to one of the orphanages. 

She informed Father that he would need to write a letter and get approval for a tour, or he could go upstairs and discuss it with her boss.  Well, he must have convinced the boss, because 10 minutes later, we were in the car with Brenda headed towards an orphanage.  This orphanage had 19 children 0-6 years of age, squeezed into maybe 5 bedrooms.  Each bedroom had multiple bunk beds and multiple cribs.  There was a small playground that had been recently purchased through donations, and a central common room where the children gather.  When we showed up, we had a chance to meet the women who work there, and as the children were being woken up from their naps, they were plopped down around us, or better yet, on our laps.  The children were so cute; sleepy, dreamy eyed babies and toddlers padding around us.  There were two in particular that were fat and happy- Timothy (not Timothy, but pronounced Tim-O-thee) and Winni.  They were all just darling, but I loved the way that they just came up to us and plopped their wet little rear ends right on our laps, like this was totally natural to them to have muzingos in their common room.

The children that they take in are orphans, but some of them do have family members that they try to reunite the children with.  Some of them have been given up or abandon, quite like Benny Michael’s case, where the parents just leave the child and sign away rights.  And then parents pass away, and the family does not want the child or cannot afford the child.  If a family cannot afford the child, and that is the only reason for not taking them in, they try to financially assist the family with things like school fees.

After maybe half an hour of playing with babies, we departed the orphanage, and headed off to two all-girls boarding school so that Brenda could make some contacts.  One of the boarding schools is the Mother house to the Daughters of Mary. It also happens to be home of one of the sisters whose cause is up for beatification.  While walking to her burial place, to pray for all of you, we had to walk through a sea of saints, all quiet, and beautiful under piles of rocks and stones.  How glorious their eternal reward must be, serving Him on earth, spending eternity adoring Him.  The beauty and peace there was amazing.  My soul was just so still – standing feet from Sister Ameneda’s head stone.  I remember thinking “Dear Heavenly Father, you know the needs of my friends, their special intentions in my heart.  I need not say a word, just sit here, my soul at rest”  I continued thanking God for the gifts that so many of you are to myself and my family, thanking God for the gift of service that these head stones represent – that their sacrifice bring hope and glory and healing to each of you.  And even Benny Michael was quiet and patient during this time.

We met with several sisters, but one of my favorites is quite experienced in placing children.  She talked to Michael, and the rest of us and went through the pains of adopting.  She reminded us that we can never let someone refer to him as African American.  He will never be African American she said.  He will be Ugandan, and his line will be Ugandan American forever.  Father Michael started laughing and said, “Oh, he is soooo UG.”  She said many other things, walked us through the history of Hedwig, another little girl that we had considered adopting as well. In fact, Anna begged us to adopt her so she would have a sister. 

Hedwig’s path is both easier and more difficult that Michael’s she said.  “Is it easier to be abandon and then be given a family, with never knowing who abandon you or why, if you have a parent could be alive and suffering somewhere?  Or is it easier to have a parent, and know of their existence, and dealing with the pain in knowing that they are living a decent life, but did not want to be burdened by your presence, that your presence caused them shame?  One is an orphan, caused by death or mental illness, a lost child whose parents are most likely dead.  One is an orphan, caused by abandonment, caused by a mother that is too young to care, and a family that predominantly sees you as an embarrassment.  There are orphans all over the world, with so many different stories.  Your job is to tell them their own unique story, without lies and fabrications, and help them heal and see God’s hand in His plan for their beautiful lives.” 

Paraphrasing now, ‘It may be easier when Hedwig is older, to go back to Uganda and meet her mom and grandparents and thank them for giving her a wonderful life in the United States, for not aborting her at the age of 14, for letting Father Michael take her and raise her when nobody else wanted to, if she is raised well, and gets help in seeing these as good and positive things. 

Michael will not be able to go and find anyone – if you, the probation officers, the police could not find a soul from birth until now, how much more likely will it be it 20 years for that to happen, especially with a Ugandan’s life expectancy in the villages?  He will need to see this as a good thing as well.  The mother left him in the grass between a minor seminary, a major seminary and Fr. Michael’s home.  She was most likely dying and knew that someone holy would find him and give him a life.  She probably had no idea who the father was, so this was his only chance at life.’

This sister was a wealth of knowledge and understanding and she brought a great deal of peace regarding the growing up and “how much knowledge is too much knowledge” questions.

We went out to a late dinner at the hotel on the top of the hill.  Jeff, Nap and I had eaten there almost every night when we were at the Maria Flo, but things have changed, and I would not go back.  We ordered a flat bread pizza that we had gotten before, and it was horrible – the cheese had gone really really bad, it took 1 1/2 hours for the food to come, etc.  Father Michae said, “Haha, food taking 2 hours to come, so UG.”  The rest of the night, we amused ourselves with UG’isms.  A woman carrying a basket of bananas on her head – that is so UG.”  “4 guys on a boda boda carrying a pig – that is so UG.”  “Being excited about a day with power – so UG.”  “Looking forward to cold showers, so UG.”

I promised Father that I would get a tee shirt made for Michael that said, “So UG”, with the UG in strips of yellow, black and red.  Does anyone own a monogram machine who would want to do this for me?!?  What an awesome coming home present that would be for Michael.

Notes from my prayer journal:  Everyone should be blessed by family, but this world is in a fallen state, and that is not possible for so many. Family is supposed to be a place of faith formation, moral and character development, discipline, love and forgiveness.  It is where we learn to serve, be responsible, and witness God in all things.  I wanted to pray especially for all families who have adopted or will adopt, that they give the gift of a family, in the truest sense of the word, to the child they are welcoming into their home.  Let them not propagate the feelings of abandonment, pain or suffering that these children have already experienced.  Let them embrace all that God has in store for them, and help us all teach each other to love and serve Him in all things.

“And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together will all of the saints, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled to the measure of all of the fullness of God.”

-Ephesians 3:17-19

Soundtrack song of the day:  Wake me up - Avicii


Consecration to Jesus through the Immaculate Heart of Mary, part 1, Day 5

Learning curve

Adoption Side Bar:

Our Learning Curve

I have tried to make the blog more about my trip, and less about our first days with Little Benny Michael.  It would be amiss if I failed to make note of my difficulty in controlling my emotions during these first few days.  I can normally put on a good front, without having to just shut down emotionally, in order to hide what is going on.  But I have had to shut down, force myself to be emotionless about things, in order to handle them with the appearance of humility.  I have tried to blog more about the trip itself, and less about him, but so many people ask for details and information, and in order to be completely honest, and not surprise people when we return, I thought I would share some details from different events and let you be the judge.

For instance, while we were at a luncheon, after Sunday’s Mass, he has hot and tired, hungry and bored.  He wanted to be out playing, and suddenly, he had just had it, so we let him out of his chair thinking that because there was no room indoors, I could show him the chickens out the window, and see if he wanted to go outside.  When I was holding him up to see out the window, he grabbed hold of the bars, with a death grip and started climbing the bars to the top of the window, and I am left grabbing him by his ankles with one hand and his stomach with my other hand while he is screaming in front of all of the dignitaries.  And of course none of the dignitaries knew that he could not speak, so suddenly there was a flurry of conversation among people in the dining room, and then it followed us outside where hundreds of people were watching this muzingo woman chase after this “village animal” child.  (Yes, that was overheard.)

Why doesn’t he answer me? He is so rude.  Why does he scream?  He needs to be disciplined. Why won’t he speak? He is a stupid village Afrikaan.  You just need to go get a stick and beat him. Why did people let him get this way?  Why didn’t they teach him to speak and converse with him?  He must be spoiled.  Why didn’t he get sent to a deaf village?  Why can’t he sign? Why has nobody do anything before? You ruined him.  He must be an idiot. 

Oh, it hurt my heart, but it was also very frustrating.  I am not one to just sit there and say nothing, but I had to.  These are important people to the parish, and although Father told them that we were adopting Michael, I am sure that nobody said, “By the way, he has had the baseline in terms of care and teaching and socialization up to this point.  He cannot speak because nobody spoke to him when he was born.  He hears every word you say in Llugandan, and a good portion of what you say in English, so watch your dang mouths before I shut them for you.” I wanted to jump up and defend.  I wanted to yell back.  I wanted to be mad at Benny Michael for not proving them wrong then and there.  But it was not his fault. 

I know better.  I am a mother of 5 dear sweet children, and here I am in Uganda, with no back up plan, who put herself in an impossible situation with a child she cannot communicate with.  I did not ask enough questions before we got to Mass, like “Where is the exit, how long is it, where can he go to take a nap, etc?”  I was unprepared, did not demand to have the keys to the car so I could go and get waters and his snacks.  I have no idea who to drive his car, or which million dirt roads it takes to get home, so at 2, I should have had a plan for getting him lunch and a nap, but I sat there and let him get tired and hot and hungry.  (We did give him a protein bar, but when you are up on the altar, in front of the whole hot and hungry parish and 30 hungry underfed children we felt uncomfortable doing more.)    Had someone told me that I was going to sit on an altar for almost 6 hours with Anna, I would have said, “I am bringing X,Y, and Z.  She will need A & B, and I can expect X to happen at this time, so we are leaving, but will be back.”  I failed to protect, and that sucks, and I paid the price, although Benny will never understand or remember this at all.

Another example?  I bought a bunch of toys to bring – little people, zoo animals, race cars, color books, a football, a stuffed dog and stuffed bear. So, he scarcely acknowledges them the first few days.  Then we go to Maria’s little apartment and I drop off a bunch of baby stuff that I bought her, and Michael sees the rattles and teethers and baby toys, and that is all he wants to play with – he loves them.  The box said 18 months and up.

He cannot feed himself with a spoon or fork, just uses his hands, so luckily I brought little plastic dishes and silverware and we have been working on it every day, at every meal.  And when I plate is put down in front of him, he just starts smacking it and grabbing food off, but in just a few shorts days, he has learned to wait, and is slowly learning the sign of the cross.  How, may you ask, does he not know how to make the sign of the cross if he has been brought up at the Delta with a priest? He is learning now.  I took away the cups that he drank out of the first day we met him because he would soak himself in ¾ of it, and in return, he has a sippy cup until he learns to control the speed at which the cup goes to his mouth, and the angle at which he should hold the cup.

He spent the first few days hitting me every chance he got if he did not like something.  Or he would just straight up ignore what I was saying if Paul was anywhere near.  He started getting time outs and his hand smacked back and that has stopped completely – it took two times, and it was over.  He understands consequences to his actions, but nobody has ever disciplined him or told him no and meant it.

I was cutting strips of paper for Arthur’s school, and Michael was grabbing handfuls and running away and rolling them into long sticks and shoving them up his nose and then licking them.  It took several times of me taking them away to get them to stop going up his nose, but he rolled maybe 30 different strips.

He shoves everything in his mouth.  He tries to eat straw wrappers at the restaurants, he tried to put my scissors in his mouth, he ate the nose off of the dog the first night he had it.  He chews on the edges of tables and chairs, chewed the strap of my backpack until it was drenched, ate the backs of all of his crayons while he was coloring, and tried three times to swallow my mini holy water bottles whole.  I literally had to grab his cheeks behind the assorted items to get them from being swallowed and force them out of his mouth.  All I can envision is the 1 million legos we have being removed from his stomach and intestines 1 by 1.

At the school today, children were working in classrooms, and we were interviewing people, and getting tours, and I could not even try to control where Michael went or what he did (within reason) because again, I was setting myself and him up for failure.  Could I discipline him in a way he understood where we were at?  No.  So I could decide to get frustrated and yell and take out my frustration on him, or I could sit and enjoy the presentation and the school, and work harder on preparing him and myself for situations like this.

When I changed his poopy diaper today, (yes he still wears diapers), he stuck his hand in it and then licked his hand. It happened so fast that I almost got physically ill.      

And the whole time that he is learning his boundaries and having fun, and being his crazy happy go lucky self, he is smiling and laughing and just so joyful.

People might see a 3 ½ year old, but what we really have is a very strong and powerful 18 month old, who absorbs everything he sees.  Imagine the follow up movie to Jungle Book – when Mowgli gets brought home, back into a family and into a village.  Our movie would be just that – Mowgli learning to fit in.  It is necessary to Benny Michael to learn societal norms, he needs to learn how to behave, and how to express his needs, and communicate, and obey.  We knew going in that these were the realities we would face, but that does not make it easy and the answers can be slow in coming.  However, he now lets me put his seatbelt on without screaming and kicking and trying to climb out of it.  And hey, we have been together less than a week.  Some progress will come quickly, and sometimes we will fall 5 steps back.  For now, I will take what I can get.

Pray for our communication and for peace and understanding in the hearts of the people we encounter as we gear up to head back to Kampala in the next few days.

Notes from my prayer journal:  The whole trip is a prayer.  I have always felt confident that I am doing what the Lord has asked of me, “Go and adopt Benny Michael.”  Boom, done.  But now, as I sit here and each day draws to a close, I wonder if I am strong enough to do all that is required of me now.  Sure I can fill out applications for adoption, go to meetings, read educational material.  I have 5 children, I feel they are awesome and amazing and I adore them.  I like doing what God wants me to do maybe 50% of the time, and the rest of the time I feel as though I can do it even though it hurts.  But after reviewing the battles we face with connecting with a child, and conforming him to a family structure and family life, I am beginning to worry that I just might not be capable.  I know that He wants me to do this, and because He is asking me to, then I must be able to, but it all seems daunting.  I could walk out, right now, and go home back to my safe and comfortable life, and skip out on this hassle all together.  He gives us free will to do just that – so I guess I just have to acknowledge that this is going to be really painful either way and focus on the peace that doing His will, will provide me.

“But my eyes are fixed on you, O Sovereign Lord; in You I take refuge – do not give me over to death.”

-          Psalm 141:8

Soundtrack song of the day: I’ll Be – Edwin McCain

 Us bribing Michael with ice cream from a street vendor after Mass on Sunday!

A Sunday of Miracles

Sunday, 23rd

For our first Sunday in Uganda, Fr. Michael has invited us to his parish for a celebration.  There are several boarding schools sending representatives to his parish to show their love and support for all that Father is doing.  All we were told is that there will be a lot of youth there visiting the parish, and that it was a great honor, and a blessing from God to have those children travel from so far away, with so many important representatives and heads of school.

We were late, as always, and there is nothing that you can ever do about it – between the rain, and potholes, and mud pits, and broken down cars and our own flat tire, there is little that can be done.  When we arrived at the church, it so completely full, the priests and school dignitaries were outside awaiting our arrival, and the marching band was beginning to perform the entrance processional.  We literally had to hop out of the car, grab Michael and were shown seats up on the outskirts of the altar, across from the dignitaries, with the priests at the head of the altar.  It was embarrassing and we were so unworthy, having done nothing for the parish but simply show up and show interest in their lives and work.

We were seated in chairs (Paul, Anthony, Grace and I with Benny Michael) but in front of us was a tiny sea of little brown faces and huge white eyes.  There must have been 30 children on the steps of the altar because there was no other place for them to sit, it was completely full in the Church, and moms with tired babies were already outside in the sun on blankets listening to Father over speakers run by car batteries.  And when I say that the Church was full, don’t think for a second that it is a small Church.  It is so large in fact, that Idi Amin was flying overhead and saw the church and he asked who lives there, because whoever lives there must be very wealthy and therefore must have great power.  Upon landing, he immediately summoned the owner of the large building to him, so the pastor left the Church and headed to the Capital.  And there, he was executed for being a threat to Amin’s power and control.  Rather, he just disappeared, never to be heard from again, the same fate as thousands of people during his reign of terror. 

During the Mass, the children pressed against the legs of Paul and I fighting over who could sit closest.  I had a head on my thigh, an arm on my knee.  I had a girl who kept trying to rub my toe nail polish to see if it would come off on her fingers.  They would stroke or pull my hair to see if it was real, touch my skin to see if I was painted.  They would try to see if they could catch our attention with winks and smiles and whispers all throughout the Mass.  And the Mass itself was amazing.  Father Michael had a wonderful homily as always.

Father Michael is very much a priest for the people.  He is a pastor, but understands that the only way to get your parish to grow and expand is to be welcoming and inviting to the people around you, no matter what parish they go to.  People know they have options, so if you are going to try and close your doors, or not be welcoming or inviting or kind to guests, then you insult them and Christ in them.  Jesus, the pastor of the ENTIRE church did not go around saying, “Where are you from? Oh, not from Bethlehem, then I cannot serve you, today, I will see you next week when I am there.”  Father always tries to meet the needs of every Catholic, where they are at.

If we were perfect, if we had all of the answers, if we had everything sorted out in our uncomplicated and peaceful lives, then we would not need Him.  But we are not perfect, or simple, or have things easy, so we need Him and the Church’s love and guidance and support on our level.  Our Church, as the Spouse of Christ, should call out to us, yearn for us, and desire our participation in it and in return we find Christ in the Church, have our needs met, and share the joy we have found.  We each have a hole in us, and we need to fill it with something. “My heart shall not rest, until it rests in You…”  We will search for that something until the hole is filled.  Should our Church, and our Savior, be what we fill our hearts and holes with?  Then make your church a welcoming place, open your hearts to what it has to offer, and be ready to celebrate Mass and Jesus with every part of yourself.  Once you find that peace of Christ, work hard at maintaining it, and be an example to those looking for a place to find rest and peace and then be filled with His compassion. 

The compassion of Christ in our hearts is what drives people to love and serve God.  Do men often feel like they have too much money, and then start giving it away?  No, men are never filled or feel satisfied, which is why you must make the choice to serve God and His people and His Church, right now, no matter how much you have or how big your house is, or how big your bank account is.  No matter how little you have, or how much you have, you must decide to serve God, and make the sacrifices that are asked of you. 

When you feel the satisfaction and fulfillment that comes when you serve God, you will become addicted, and your hearts will be filled with Joy. Oh, and that Joy is like a virus, it is contagious and spreads like a wild fire.  And that Joy is what is filling his Church, and bringing people back into the pews, and causing people to cook and clean and prepare such a wonderful feast for everyone today, and what has caused several hundred youth and their head masters to come all the way out to this small parish, and donate almost 10 million schillings to the Church’s pew rebuilding fund.  That joy is what led the head masters to give two 4 year, full ride scholarships to the top two students of Fr. Michael’s choosing from his parish, for secondary school (like middle and high school). Not only 2 this past year, but two more for next year.  Can you imagine, someone brings Christ to people in such a dynamic spirit filled way, that they repay him for his impact and his faith, by giving 4 students from a tiny, very poor village school the opportunity to have an education free of charge for 4 years.  That is a million dollar lottery ticket in the US. Oh the things I take for granted.

It was beautiful, and inspiring, but it was not my favorite part.  My favorite part was the rows of village children who had just received communion.  I loved seeing these children and their humility so much that I started practicing this tiny little act when I came home from Uganda last year.  The children, upon receiving communion, go to their pews, and place their hands directly over their faces for quite some time.  I love this.  When I come back from communion, my focus should be on Christ, alive in me – it should not be on the people walking by, making eye contact with friends, checking out what is going on around me.  I have begun putting my finger tips on my forehead, , my thumbs on my jawline and spreading my palms into a triangle, blocking out every distraction so that I can focus on my conversation with and my adoration of Christ in me.  It is freeing, and beautiful – what the children can teach these old people – their faiths and their love so untainted and pure.

There were hours of speeches, literally hours, when school officials would come present Father with checks of donation from their school.  One of the presenters, in particular, I liked.  He went up to the podium and addressed the crowd in Lugandan, but part f the way through turned to Paul and I and said, “Now you go to America, and you tell everyone you know that we are not black.  I am tired of going to America, and having people say that I am black.  Oh no, Ugandans are not black, look at us, we are delicious in color, we are dark and rich and beautiful chocolate.  That little child needs to remember that he is not black, he is not African.  He is chocolate, he is Ugandan.

At the end of Mass, a woman was called to the podium to tell her story, a story I had recently heard from some sisters who live on the church grounds. I had wondered how much of it was true, but maybe seeing is believing.  You decide. 

It all begins when Fr. Michael came to his little parish in August, there were very few people coming for a village of that size.  Witch craft, and voodoo believers are everywhere in the outskirts of the main towns and cities, so he knew what to expect.  Father came armed with a statue of Our Lady of Fatima, given to him by a fellow priest friend.  Father began praying about his little parish and decided that they would have weekly prayer in front of the Blessed Sacrament, for people to come and pray all day and night for their needs.  It started very small maybe 10 or 12 people.  Father would go and pray his rosary and ask Our Lady to go to our Heavenly Father on our behalf and bring our petitions to Him.

The more he prayed, and preached, the more that people come.  Someone came to him and told him of a woman who had been in a car accident 10 years ago, and was bed ridden, and had not gotten up or left the house during that whole time.  Father prayed and asked for guidance, and decided that he was going to pray for 40 days and nights for this woman, a rosary novena every day.  On the 39^th day, the woman said, that she was asleep, and she heard a very sweet voice say, “Get up, your Father in heaven has healed you.” And so she got up, and three months later, with all of her friends crying in the front pews of the Church, the friend that they had loved and watched and cared for and prayed for stood and preached about the love of God and the healing he brings.  And except for a limp, you never would have known that she had been so seriously injured for so long.

Mass ended shortly after that, a total of 5.5 hours later.  Yes, I said that we were in Mass for 5 ½ hours.  And because it ended with the testimony of healing and miracles, that was the topic on everyone’s mind when another miracle story, that I had also heard from a different source, began being discussed.  There had been a young child who had been afflicted with illness for a long time, so her parents took her to a village witch doctor to find a cure.  But instead, huge thorns began coming out from under her skin on her arm.  The parents took her to city doctors, and could not find an answer or a cure for her and the excruciating pain that she felt when one was present.  One doctor pulled out 45 thorns, 2-3” in length, and documented the case in great length.  Her parents were overcome with frustration to they came to the parish priest.  Father Michael brought her in and everyone prayed for her, and then Father began a 9 day novena for her. On the last day, a thorn as removed, and none took its place in her arm, and on this day, the long scar is gone.

The faith of the people in the village is growing now.  If people want to speak with Father Michael for counseling about whatever ails them or their families, they have to go to all night adoration on Tuesdays, and then you can have an appointment.  These village people walk miles, in the rain and mud and heat, with breakfast and a sleep mat on their backs, to spend all night talking to Jesus.  Where there was once 10-12, there is 75-100 in Mary’s chapel.  People have begun turning over their juju, their idols, and their “medicines” prescribed by the witch doctors or voodoo leaders, now stored in a box in the sacristy at the Church, in order to have everything burned at the Easter Vigil.

All of these things are beautiful, and very telling of the type of community that Father Michael is trying to raise up in this part of Uganda.

Notes from my prayer journal:  If I believe that I am on the path of His choosing, then I need to believe that I am there for a reason, that His grace will be given to fill in my many deficits, and that I will not be torn asunder unless that is His plan for my attaining my everlasting salvation.  In which case, I would have to respond to the pain, mental, emotional, or physical, by saying, “Bring it on.”

“We are assured and know that God is in all things, and all things work together for the good of those who love God and that all are called according to His design and purpose.”

-Romans 8:28

Soundtrack Song of the day:  Lord I need You – Matt Maher

Consecration to Jesus through the Immaculate Heart of Mary,  DeMontfort's Consecration, part 2, Day 4

Saturday - Hot and sticky and hot

Saturday, the 22^nd , 2 AM & Sticky

That is the only way to describe how Saturday started.

Michael had fallen asleep again Friday night very painlessly.  They call this the adoption honeymoon phase – when the child starts to bond, and is obeying out of a slight fear that he would lose the attention of the adopters.  I will take just about anything though.  Anyhow – it was particularly hot and stifling this night, and in the middle of writing Friday’s blog I had fallen asleep to the sounds of what had been an Islamic graduation party from a British University in town that had been taking place In the Maria Flo courtyard.  Their little party of 50 had started around 2, and when I had laid my head down, the beat lulled me to sleep.

 

Anyone who was in Masaka, Uganda might have been puzzled about how this happened.  You see, starting at 9 PM, there was a GIGANTIC party on the base of the hill we were on, and I kid you not, it lasted all night long.  They are using a huge speaker system, and there is a beat line in the background and a few people talking and saying different things in Llugandan which I can’t understand, and the massive crowd erupts in laughter, screaming and cheering every other second.  Maybe like a huge comedy club for 20 somethings with random songs thrown in.  Or, you could picture the battling between Eminem and his competitors during 8 Mie – catchy beat line, and the mic is being passed around, with the crowd encouraging changes and voting, etc.  Or if you went to college with me, you could imagine an outdoor or Back-to-School Festival of Praise, shouts and chants and screams and a beat echoing off of our little hills, and shaking our dorm room windows, with 10 times the amount of people.

This, was the exact same introduction that Jeff, Nap and I got to a Maria Flo Friday night in November 2012.  Except then, the Maria Flo was the one hosting the event, and people were smoking pot, at least there was a breeze to keep it cool, and the beat line lulled me to sleep around 4 – in fact I woke up because the noise had stopped around 6 AM and I mentally was trying to figure out what had happened to cause it to stop.  And this is so common in Uganda. 

When you drive around at night, starting around 6 PM, there are just people everywhere – they come out of their homes, out of the woodwork, and just fill the streets.  Pick-up trucks with sound systems on the back drive around with people shouting about just about everything, “Jesus Saves” to “Homosexuality Spreads AIDs and kills our children” to “I sell pesticide – kill  rats, cockroaches, spiders – come and get it.” There are street vendors with tiny propane tanks or wood barbeques set up selling whatever meat was left over at the market, the noise of music, and whatever soccer game played recently coming from cars, tv sets, stereos.  This happens every night, but it is as though on Friday and Saturday nights, the whole country relieves its angst, and congregates in the streets to just celebrate life.

Back to sticky.

On this particular Friday night, I had put in ear drops for the ear that started hurting on Thursday morning – probably because I had gotten water in it accidently on Wednesday when I had tried to wash my hair under the hose.  I then fell asleep at a really awkward angle on the bed with my hands and part of my face pressed against the cool plastic of the laptop, to cheers and screams.

I awoke with a puddle of something really sticky all over my arm, and to the sounds of the current “Ee-Yay, Ee-Yay, Ee-Yay Yo” banging in the rooms.  The mosquito net was plastered to the back of my neck, and the digital alarm clock read both a time and a temperature that was too ridiculous to handle.  It took me a minute to realize where I was, and even longer in the pitch black to realize what was all of my arm and cheek (ear medication had apparently drained out, mixed with the sticky lollipop arm that Benny Michael had left on me before he too had fallen asleep to the chants and cries, and of course sweat.)  I would say that there was sweat mixed in, but I am not hydrated enough to sweat THAT much. 

I turned around to find Paul still watching the first season of Breaking Bad on his tablet with his Beats firmly in place, completely ignoring what was going on outside of our room.  The one thing you cannot ignore here is the oppressive heat though.  Without any air circulation it is positively oppressing – especially at night.  The mosquito net, although definitely mandatory, hangs on your outer extremities, bonding to the tiny hairs on your arm and your pores that are mass producing, slowly choking your body.  It is so hot that you cannot breathe through your nose because you feel like you are not sucking in enough oxygen but when you breathe through your mouth, you just lose more moisture and it becomes even more thick and sticky than your skin. And one of the grossest parts is that when you turn your head towards the side, you are met with the smell of a mosquito net that has protected a thousand bodies living in the exact same situation that you are currently in. (Don’t worry Marla, if you are reading this, I did bring a can of Lysol and my own mosquito net so I will be fixing the situation soon.)

There are no fans, no breeze, and opening your windows a little bit more only open you up to more noise and more mosquitos.  You are left with no choice but to just lay there, with none of your body parts touching any other of your body parts – your hair as far from your face and neck and chest as you can get it.  You dry mouth screams for water, your lips for chapstick, and your face for the Biore face wipes that you brought ten packs of.  I even resorted to spray down my back and neck with an alcohol based body spray so that the evaporation effect cools me down and dries out my skin a bit.

As I start writing, I can hear Paul begin to move around – “If I could just take a cold shower or bath, I would feel so good, and this noise would not keep me up at all.”  And from there, our conversation turned into one about how, if the zombie apocalypse was to happen here and now, we would be in a pretty safe place – we are already on a compound surrounded by barbed wire, with cinderblock walls covered in broken glass and metal shards.  There are guns everywhere, food grows in abundance on the banana, mango and jack fruit trees, and every window has bars on it.  The only problem would be the lack of water, but even then, we brought a million water filter systems with us so once we found a source, we could make it clean for at least a year.  Oh, the things you think about when you are hot, sticky and tired.

Since I was up, I prayed for a bit – “Pray Continually” we were ordered in 1 Thessalonians 5:17, and I have a lot to pray for. 

The song going through my head was Ginny Owens, “If you want me to.”

Our Saturday

We had planned to spend the day getting some computer work done.  I need to update our website, and Paul needs to check work emails.  But without the power being available, we were stuck in kind of a holding pattern.  The three of us had a very slow start to our morning, which considering that we were up until 7 AM, this seemed ideal.  Once we ate, we headed back to the room to start filling out our Embassy paperwork which was almost futile because most of the answers we really do not know; Benny’s b-day, place of birth, registered county, home address, filed guardian, etc.  I kind of gave up, filed everything back in the binder that I am keeping it safe in, and practiced words and colored with Benny.  He loves to draw, scribble etc.  When he wanted a crayon, I tried to get him to say the words “more” “yes” and “no”.  He is progressing rather quickly and it is nice to have a baseline for communication – simple words or hand motions or grunts that kind of guide us through the day.

When Michael and Paul were laying down resting, I decided to do laundry.  Yep, I took my wash bucket that is provided in each room, and I washed the dishes and tried to wash some clothes.  Because the power was out, which meant there was no hot water, there was no water pressure and water flowed at a very low trickle.  But I was determined, which meant a lot more work on my end in the realm of scrubbing and rinsing and scrubbing again.  I only washed 3 of Benny’s outfits, and a shirt of mine and Paul’s, but it seemingly took forever and five hours later, the things are still not dry.  I can clothes line hung from one end of the hall all the way through the bathroom.  Had I been able to hang things outside, I am sure they would have been dry in an hour, but indoors, without lights or a fan or power, no such luck.

I finished my afternoon trying to catch up on letters to my dear sweet children.  I tried to write each child a letter or card or picture, for at least 3 days of every week that I am gone.  I put all of these in a box called the “Miss You” box, but I only made it to March 11^th.  I knew that I should be able to catch up some before Paul left and I worked diligently trying to get them done.  In order to save some time, I had bought 4 packs of Valentine’s Day kids cards before I left.  It is hard though, filling out cards for your beautiful children that you miss so much.  And when you put the dates on the fronts of the cards, it is hard not to choke at the very thought of being gone until April 25^th or May 5^th or even March 15^th.  I am not sure how I will handle it, but I have no choice, so you just suck it up.  I hung pictures from Anna and Matt above the desk as inspiration, and Benny thought it was great that this clear stuff was sticky and that the metal on scissors is cold.

Our night was an early one – it is pitch black, there is no power anywhere, and you have little options of what to do when it is that dark.  We need to be up early Sunday, Father is picking us up for Mass and a huge celebration in his parish.  That should be really great to watch.

Notes from my prayer journal:  It is hard not to succumb to self-pity, and self-pity is just that – a pit.  Normally, I do not have this problem.  Normally, the tougher things are, the more excited I get.  But this afternoon, I could not get motivated to fight against it.  I could feel it there, “Poor you, our little lovers and in Alabama, suffering because you are a bad mom who left them there with nobody to help them.  I know this is totally not true – my sister is there, my mother and father-in-law can help her.  We have some soccer friends helping.  But good gracious, I good not get over it.  What helped me focus on praying and on the mental path I should be on was:

“Let us also lay aside every encumbrance and the sin which easily entangles us and let us run with endurance, the race that is set before us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of faith, who for the joy set before Him, endured the cross, despising shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.”

Hebrews 12: 1-2

Soundtrack song of the day: Stubborn Love, Lumineers

Consecration to Jesus, through the Immaculate Heart of Mary, DeMontfort's Consecration, part 1, Day 3