I will trust you

Never will I forsake you

I came back to Uganda to find all of its lessons waiting for me.

Last year in the red dust of downtown Kampala, I found surrender. In the thick of adoption process stress and doing all I could to force things to go my way, I ran out of strategies. God took me to the end of myself, and there was no better place to be.

Here again, Africa is reminding me that I have no real control over this life. I set up lots of systems to make me feel in control, I do all I can to steer things in the direction I want them. But in the end, where can I run but into his arms? He alone holds the words of life.

When ministering in the slum, just hanging back and observing another team, the children just surround us. They hold on to any part of us they can reach, and we are pressed from all sides with children just craving love and affection. They stand and hold our hands, arms, fingers, waist, for hours. They look up into our faces every two minutes, because they want to see a smile, they want to know we are pleased with them as they are. {There’s a lesson here for me.}

I can’t make life better for them; I can’t tell their parents to show them they love them. I can give them love for one evening, to hold on to them when my feet ache and I’d rather sit down; to open my arms wider and let another little one feel a warm embrace; to ask them their names and cup their faces in my hands. But it’s not enough.

And so I have to leave them and say to the God who sees more than I can, I trust you I trust you I trust you.

When experiencing another side of this culture I don’t understand, when I observe methods of evangelism I haven’t seen in years, when it raises every red flag in my personal religious history, I have to take a deep breath.

I give it all to him, because I’m just one person, and I whisper I trust you I trust you I trust you.

We visit another orphanage, one that stays on my heart, heavy, all day, and we meet a sweet baby, so handsome, who completely steals the heart of a young woman on our team. We learn that his mother is 14 and his father is 15, and the orphanage can keep him for 5 years and maybe by then, when the mother is 19, she’ll make better decisions, and it feels so hopeless, and this is not the best life for him, not by a long shot, but what else can we do?

I have to trust we’re here for a reason, that locking eyes with him and the other babies for brief moments meant something, and I can’t help crying as my heart breaks and I say I trust you I trust you I trust you.

When situations don’t pan out the way we hope. When our hearts break and there’s nothing to be done. When we want something so much but it seems just out of reach. When we see the world’s brokenness and we feel so inadequate.

Say it with me, will you?

I trust you. I trust you. I trust you.

  • http://juliebrock.net Jules

    My lovely friend, I pray for you and your team to continue to do His work. To open hearts and eyes – to catch the mind of those that need to be caught by his hands. I love you, love you, I love you.

  • http://fromtheheart-anna.blogspot.com Anna

    This is beautiful. I continue to wrestle with trust. I also pray for grace……..