I am selfish

Andrew and I

I was sitting on the bathroom floor. It was before 6 am. My throat was on fire, as I had just lost all of my dinner. I had food poisoning. Suddenly in this moment, the call of God on my life, my love for missions, my sweet braided hair, the kids I would be serving, the amount of likes I got on my Instagram photos or even the reason I was in Uganda did not matter. In that moment, I wanted to go home.

            I wanted my bed, my mom, my own bedroom, my own car, my clean house with perfect ventilation and honestly, I wanted Chick-fil-a. I began feeling very sorry for myself and not caring at all that I had a job to do and God had provided this opportunity. I was miserable and I wanted everyone to know I was miserable. I immediately began doing an inventory of the food I had eaten in the last 24 hours that could be the cause of this "horrible ordeal" I was now suffering. Then it hit me, the village.

            When I came to Uganda last summer, I had the wonderful privilege of meeting an incredible Ugandan family that had opened their lives, their hearts and their home to me. I loved them and even though we didn’t speak the same language, I knew that they loved me. With four of their own kids and a slew of nieces and nephews that stay with them, there is always some fun to be had. Every time I went to see them, they insisted on feeding me, most of the time before they even fed their own kids or ate themselves. I usually ate without hesitation and shared with the kids. This family was not neglectful to their children, they just always wanted to give me their best. I had spent the day in the village, and I had eaten everything they placed in front of me. We had laughed, planted beans, they opened their Christmas presents from the States and we cried when we said goodbye. I loved it.

            However, as I was sitting there on the tile floor, my face in the toilet, I seemed to forget all about that. I told myself that I wouldn’t eat their food anymore, that I would just say no. Maybe, I shouldn’t even go see them for awhile. I was sick after all and really, this was a sacrifice I was making being here. I just wanted to go home to everything that was comfortable.

            Later that day, when I could at least leave the bathroom long enough to lay on my bed, I began to consider how quickly my attitude had changed. There is a certain “glamour” if you will about going to Africa. The idea that the coolest missionaries are the ones posting photos of children outside of huts. To be honest, my followers on Instagram have more than doubled when I started posting from Uganda and people who I barely knew were commenting on how I was doing such a great job. I truly do love missions and I love traveling and I truly love Uganda. But I was surprised at myself that the minute it got difficult, I wanted to call it quits and run home.

            To some degree, I suppose that what I was feeling was natural. Food poisoning is no fun and I don’t recommend recklessly exposing yourself to sicknesses or parasites (I sleep with a mosquito net and only drink filtered water). But I also know that God did not call me to give up the minute it became not so fun to be there anymore. Living a life of missions is a sacrifice and I know some incredible, Godly people who have given up everything to follow God around the world.
But for me, I have gotten WAY more from Uganda than I have ever given it. I don’t mind the dust or the heat or the bugs. I love learning a new language, trying new foods and having a hair style that has very little maintenance. So,  really it is not surprising that as soon as it became difficult, I wanted to quit. Because no one was in the bathroom cheering me on for my incredible servant heart. And as I lay there all day, unable to even keep water down, no one was recognizing me for my "sacrifice "and that is what made it so hard. My throwing up is one photo that would not be getting likes.

            When I was praying and spending time with God that day, I began to think of what sacrifice truly is. God knows what sacrifice is and Jesus knows what sacrifice is. I was reflecting on the sacrifice that Jesus made for me when He chose to undergo torture and pain and humiliation and separation from God because of me. I thought about Him in the garden, praying so hard he sweating blood, meanwhile his disciples and closest friends are sleeping. No one was liking Jesus’ instagram posts at that moment. What if Jesus had given up that night? Or the next day? Or at any moment in His life and my life when He stops receiving the praise He deserves, when things got bad. At any moment, Jesus could have chosen to be done. He could have chosen to call it quits. He had the power to do so. But He didn’t. He stayed, He endured and He still does today.

            The truth is, I am selfish. We all are. But we have the choice everyday to indulge in that selfish nature that says being happy and comfortable and safe should be our goal (and a culture that reinforces the idea) or to decide to love and serve and work without praise, without recognition and even in the worse of circumstances. Food poisoning is not life threatening and hardly deserving of all the drama I gave it. Jesus has endured so much worse. So now, I’m choosing to not indulge, I’m choosing to endure.

 To love unconditionally, even if that means I have ring worm that still won’t go away after 5 months, or I sometimes get covered in pee while holding babies at an orphanage or I go without a real shower or if I spend all day in the bathroom because I ate some potentially bad potatoes that were given to me out of love and honor. Because some hardships are meant to be endured. Because I need to remember how good God is and I need to be reminded that on my own, I’m really just selfish. And I need to remember how faithful Jesus is and I can’t afford to stop being grateful for His sacrifice.

One of my favorite nights with my favorite family

I'm Done with Normal Christmas

I was sitting on my bed with my Bible open when the tears began to fall. The pages of my journal began to ripple in little circles under the moisture, I didn’t care. I had just been reading about God’s faithfulness to Israel, how God always takes care of His children and always provides.

Christmas Morning with my friend, Allen

            It had been almost 100 days since I had returned home from Uganda and I was desperate to get back but working at a church, interning for the school district and college full time didn’t leave much room for working another job. I had quit about two weeks before. And as I sat there praying and crying, I put it all in God’s hands and I knew He would take care of it. He knew my heart and turns out He loves Uganda more than I do. I was not prepared for what happened next.

            I had just pulled into my driveway after a full day of class when I got the email. It was an offer, to spend Christmas in Uganda, with a dear friend, for free. When I saw the message I wasn’t sure if I should scream or cry, or dance or jump, eventually I did all of it. I just couldn’t believe what was happening. And even now I am so grateful to everyone who made it possible. After getting consent from my parents, my ticket was bought and in 30 days I would be landing on African soil again. My heart was estatic. I honestly buzzed through the last few weeks of the semester, all I was thinking about was Uganda.

            I arrived in Uganda about a week before Christmas and it was just as beautiful as I remembered. I spent time with one of my dear friends, loving on children, trying to learn Luganda and talking about the States. It was bliss.

            Then Christmas Eve hit. Nothing that day had gone according to plan. Although my friend had made some cookies, our idea of baking, making paper snowflakes and other decorations and watching Christmas movies had turned into a day of humidity, just as much heat as the day before, missing home, errands and making food for some of our favorite street boys. This was the first Christmas away from home for both of us and we wanted to make is special. Needless to say, it did not feel like Christmas. When my family got on Skype with me that night, I cried. I missed them. I missed the snow and I missed Christmas. As always, my family was supportive and encouraging. Praying for me, assuring me that Christmas cookies and a few presents awaited me when I got home as well as a nice dinner. It did help but I was not exactly grateful that night as I went to bed completely forgetting that Christmas actually isn’t about me.

The boys literally scrapped the crumbs
from the cake pan into their hands

            The next morning we got up early and packed some food, a few matchbox cars and candy into the car. We headed out before 8 am to meet some of Kampala’s 10,000 children that live on the street.

            These boys live on the street for any number of reasons, but regardless of the reasons, they don’t where they are going to sleep at night, where their next meal is coming from and if they will even be able to find safety. There is a wonderful feeding program for this particular slum of Kampala but because of the holidays, many of the volunteers had gone home or where celebrating with their families. It meant a week without any guarantee of food. My friend, Emma, and I decided to do something about that.

Love these guys

            

We met the boys outside the slum. We weren’t able to feed 10,000 or even the 70 that normally came to the feeding program but we could feed 12 that met Emma for breakfast regularly. They were so excited to see us and were waiting for us to arrive. I could have cried when I realized that they were wearing their best clothes, the ones they reserved for church. We immediately broke out the paper and markers and the boys began drawing pictures. These preteen and teen boys were so excited to simply have something to draw with. We laughed a lot, washed their hands, gave them hugs and attempted to tell them the Christmas story. After the meal, we packed up the extra food in paper bags that already contained some candy, a water bottle and a matchbox car. One for each boy. When we handed the simple bag to the first boy, his eyes got wide when he asked what it was. When we told him it was a present for him, a huge smile spread across his face. You would have thought we had given him the world. The boys immediately began playing with their cars, thanking us multiple times. It was such a joy to see them.

            After taking some photos, more hugs and praying for the boys, we returned to home to the tree full of unopened presents waiting for us and a whole chicken cooking in the crockpot. After spending Christmas morning with the boys, my attitude changed. I began to think about what Christmas was truly about and I thought, if Jesus were here celebrating His birthday, aren’t these the very people HE would be spending time with? Jesus spent his days with the lonely, broken and hurting. He spent His time on the streets, covered in dust, sharing unconditional love with everyone He met.

           

When I began to consider this I was suddenly very humbled and very grateful. God had chosen to give me a gift this Christmas. He chose to give me the blessing and the opportunity to spend the birth of His son with those who need His love the most. He trusted me enough to love these boys. He chose me to be His hands and feet this Christmas. He chose me to be His arm extended and miraculously provided a way for to do so.

            I have discovered that I don’t need snow on Christmas or presents or apple pie or to watch It’s a Wonderful Life for the 50^th time. I don’t need to be comfortable and I don’t need all of my desires to be satisfied. I need a reverent, humble appreciation for God’s incredible gift that He chose to give me when He sent His son.

            So I have made a new life resolution. I don’t want to have “normal” Christmas anymore. I love my family and I love spending Christmas with them and I think that is how God intended it to be. And don’t get me wrong, gifts are totally my love language so I am a big fan of those as well. But from now on I want to look outside of myself on Christmas.

The boys loved drawing pictures

Whether that means I am feeding street boys in Africa, working at a soup kitchen, sponsoring a homeless family for Christmas or whether I invite that lonely, elderly gentleman from church over for dinner because he’ll probably be alone or I just spend the holidays in peace with relatives that always seem to find that on thing that annoys me most, I want to celebrate Jesus’ birthday the way He would, doing and giving unto the least of these. 

There is no way that I'd rather spend Christmas