I Can't.

“And I’ll find strength in pain.”

This experience has been incredible. Each day there are new joys, pains, frustrations and struggles.

We are now teaching in the school. Our first class wasn’t well behaved at all. They wouldn’t stay quiet and kept fighting. During our break, we were told they take advantage of us being white because they know we won’t beat them, so for our next class we took a stick with us. Obviously we would never use it, but the intimidation factor seemed to work because the class was more behaved. We learned how to say, “I’ll beat you” in Luganda, but every time we try to threaten a kid we just start laughing. I hate seeing the kids get whipped. The younger kids got beat the other day. That was the first time I’ve seen Benita truly cry. Kristin and I do everything we can to make sure the girls don't get beat.

The older kids have been so helpful and sweet to us. Everyday they want to share their poscho and beans with us. We usually decline, but occasionally they talk us into it. They love giving us different things to try and get so proud when we share a meal with them. We took three of the older girls into the guest area away from everyone to make bracelets and color. One of the girls, Florence, was so happy. She acts very tough and serious, but she is really shy and sweet. I can tell she has never gotten much attention from visitors, so this was a big deal for her. She just kept looking at her new bracelet smiling. It’s the most I’ve seen her smile. Since then, she sits with us every night during worship.


The need here is… overwhelming. The well is still broken, and the kids are walking to the river everyday. Most of the village kids walk to school, which can take up to two hours, and most don’t have shoes. Because of miscommunication, there are still kids sleeping on the floor. One of the little girls sleeping on the floor, Ruth, has malaria. She won’t talk or eat much. The other day she was sleeping on my lap and started throwing up. After getting no help from the house-mom, I carried her to the clinic. Yesterday Favour was burning up. Her whole body was hot, and she wouldn’t eat. Benita was having stomach issues, and another girl, Joan, wouldn’t eat because of a toothache or sore in her mouth. Sickness is all around me. The kids take care of themselves. The clinic doesn’t seem to do much, and they are low on medicine. We have been giving the kids the medicine we have like half of a Tylenol for fevers. Last night a girl showed us a third degree burn across her arm. Her skin was hanging off and the clinic just stuck gauze on it. We put Neosporin and bandages on it, and quickly all the kids were showing us their wounds to get medicine. So there we were- sitting on the floor in the dark surrounded by kids who were hurting and wanting to be healed.

I’m quickly learning how incapable I am. Each night we sit with the girls in the dark as they eat and worship together. Then we tuck them in and say goodnight. During worship, they take a moment for prayer. Last night when it was time to pray, Benita scooted closer on my lap and rested her head on my chest. I began praying over her and crying. “Love her- I can’t. Protect her- I can’t. Provide for her- I can’t. Bless her- I can’t. Take care of her- I can’t. Be with her always- I can’t.” I’m learning that I can’t, but to trust that God can. I’m unable to give these kids everything they need and deserve. All I can do it let God use me in any way He sees fit. I’m searching for Him here and continually find Him in the simplest things like a child waving goodbye before their long walk home, the sound of laughter as we play, a child who just wants to sit beside me and hold my hand, and the sharing of a meal together. He is all around me. He can.