Get Uncomfortable

“One third of the world—that’s about 2 billion people, men, women and children—lives on less than $2 a day. That’s $60 a month, $720 a year. Some of us spend that much on our cars each month (car payment, insurance, gas, etc.). That ought to be enough for us to realize there’s a need.” –Todd Philips

We’re definitely getting a glimpse of that need here in Kampala. The Watoto Children’s Orphanage provides permanent foster care in an “ideal family” consisting of a housemother and eight children for legal orphans between the age of premies who have been abandoned at the hospital to youth before they’re old enough for university. The house that we’re helping to build was funded by your donations for our trip and is obviously more modern than surrounding local homes. Although the Watoto homes have a fireplace in the kitchen, three relatively small bedrooms compared to my own at home (one for the mother and four children in each of the other) and a wide hallway for the table, driving to the work sight has provided us with a glimpse of sod houses often with a sheet hanging in the doorway. Brown and black cows and black and white pigs, goats, chickens and roosters all wander through the yards. Toddlers are bathed in low buckets outside and young children play outside in the red dust. It sounds like a nice life, doesn’t it?

Until the curious children who came to our work sight to see the mzungu (“ma-zoon-goo” means white person) mentioned they were hungry. At about one-thirty in the afternoon, they said that the last time they had eaten was dinner time the night before. The undernourished (“We want chicken but it’s too expensive.”—a chicken costs less than $2) kids are wearing (present tense because I’m sure they are wearing those clothes at this moment) torn clothing caked in dirt. By torn, I don’t mean the hard-used tears that are straight in the knees of our American jeans. Charles has a ripped angle in the back of his little red jeans that from certain angles probably shows too much skin. The other tears are the over-used tears that we very rarely see even if you’re like me and buy second-hand clothing and wear it for ten years. Holes along shirt collars were the most notable for me because I couldn’t understand how a shirt could wear through like that. An eight year old boy carried his little sister, Angela, over to us twice in the past week. Both beautiful children, Angela has a wide grin that comes easily and reveals her few teeth that already have brown spots. She also only wears a soiled dark pink shirt—no diaper for this baby who can’t walk yet. For long distances, her brother pulls her on a homemade sled—a rectangular water container cut in half with some type of rope tied to one end. The older children have white teeth and we’re told that they’re healthier than city children because they can eat food from the farms. The first day we were on the work sight, the children wandered over when they were supposed to be digging for sweet potatoes. Our twenty-four year old guide insists that that’s a job he’d never want because it is difficult labor. Another boy was lucky to have the job of watching the cows when he discovered us. As a team of Christians, we’ve been daily seeking how God is calling us to serve these children and trying to put our faith into action concerning these children who could so easily become one of the morbid statistics that we’ve already read about Africa (1 John 3:18).

Yesterday, we visited a poor school that houses six teachers who teach approximately seven hundred students between the baby class up to primary seven. Can you imagine my humility as an ex-teacher who struggled with fourteen special ed high schoolers at a time before these teachers who are each responsible all day long for a hundred children packed into one room (sometimes five per bench which would probably seat two American children) without text books and only one cupboard of books that is in the headmistress, Harriet’s tiny office. It reminded me of one of my my co-teachers, Mr. Meekins who told me, “Miss Parrish, you go to Africa. You go there because kids there want to learn. Go and if anyone gives you grief, you’ve got a large black man here ready to defend you.” The children did a presentation for us outside near their playground which consists of a barren dirt field where I caught a photo of a footprint in the dust. Dancing and smiles, singing and drum beats from these literally poor children in simple uniforms (one little boy looked ridiculous with only his top collar button buttoned until I realized that all of the others had fallen off). Some are barefoot. A boy wears pink girl shoes without regard to our gender expectations. Then, before we met with the school staff and board, I spent some moments interacting with the kids—probably fifty handshakes (with them thinking, “I touched a mzungu!”) and talking with a few of them. I met a beautiful little girl who had lost her front tooth. I kept trying to take a photo with her but literally thirty kids kept pushing her out of the way. She’d get knocked down while I showed the kids photos of themselves and I’d yell, “Where’s the baby?! Pick up that baby!” (I know she’s not really a baby, but she was much smaller than the rest of them.) The kids had their report cards since it was the last day of school before vacation and I’d tease and encourage the kids who’d place their over-sized thin notebook reports in my hands (probably the only over-sized thing in this country). They need basic school supplies, textbooks and another school building. Those were the needs that they requested. From our own educational experiences, we’d love to also add instruments and laptops to their resources and we’re plotting ways to help this primary school called St. Pius.

There’s more. There’s the little boy, Greg, at the baby orphanage who doesn’t look like his fellow toddlers. He’s got beautiful black curls and wide eyes with tan skin. I saw him sitting by himself sucking his thumb and when I sat nearby, he crawled into my lap. We sat together for a while until I had to leave. When Arnold, our Ugandan team leader and friend from school, asked someone what Greg’s story was, we learned that his mom was a prostitute that died and left him in the house alone. Thank God someone found Greg and enabled him to come to Watoto where he’ll be cared for in a Christian community until he is old enough to go to the university.

There are about six premie (sp?) babies at that orphanage in incubators. Tiny, sickly infants who could very possibly have AIDS themselves were laying right before our eyes. We couldn’t touch them because we hadn’t washed our hands yet (they let us into the room without washing?) but I knelt down within eye sight of one of them. I understood the baby’s solemn facial expression and was probably cooing him when all of a sudden, he grinned the best smile I have ever seen in my life. Sure, it could have been relieved gas, but he was looking at me and smiled. Again, I thank God for Watoto and it’s workers’ faith in action caring for these abandoned children.

Comparing the poverty here in Uganda and in the US, Arnold mentioned his observation that in the US, the poor have options. They can choose a shelter. They can choose to spend money on basic necessities or drugs. They can choose to appreciate their free public education (the children at St. Pius have to pay a small fee for their lunchtime meals). Here in Uganda, it doesn’t seem like people have so many options. We’re talking about life or death situations. The school children sang a song with the lyrics, “We’re mountain movers. We move mountains with the power of the Lord.” May I be a mountain mover and move mountains with the power of the Lord too.

Mom and Sherri, You can stop worrying for the moment. I am planning to return home as was planned at the end of this trip. I’ve got a youth group to lead. But I wanted to share with you all some of the things we’ve witnessed in the past week. If the statistics were not enough and if my observations were not enough, the fact that I have touched these children, I have held half-naked Angela, thumb-sucking Greg and the “baby” at the school and shook the hands of so many others, I’m not sure I can be satisfied returned to my comfortable lifestyle. How can I return home to drink a $4 Java-chip frap when those kids can’t eat a $2 chicken? The fact that I have in the past debated whether I could sacrifice an extra treat for the benefit of another person is convicting as I look into the eyes of a joyful, literally dirt-poor child. This sentiment isn’t initiated by guilt, but rather, out of compassion for these brothers and sisters in Christ. I’m wondering what I can do. I need to do something. James 1:27 (photos later)

Child of Privilege

At 6AM tomorrow morning, we'll be on a flight to Washington DC, Rome, Ethiopia and finally Kampala, Uganda. As I was taking a shower this morning thinking about what to pack, I wondered at what I would see in the next two weeks, how I might consider my privileged American lifestyle after being in Africa. Of course, my stereotypes of Africa include starving toddlers with bloated bellies and flies in their eyes. What will I actually see? And even if I don't see those hungry children, that doesn't mean that they aren't there somewhere, right? Am I ridiculous to pack so many clothes when the people I meet might have much less? Isn't more ridiculous that I still have a lot more clothes waiting for my return? And I'm sure there are other opportunities that I am blessed to take for granted including daily meals (and snacks) and safe places to sleep. Recognizing that I am a child of privilege, what is my responsibility regarding the rest of the world? Flying off with prayer... Thank you, again, for your prayers and financial support!

Headed Abroad Again

In less than three days, I'll be on a flight headed to Kampala, Uganda with six friends from Drew. We're off to build a house for the Watoto orphanage and I'm thrilled about the team going and our destination. This is the same orphanage that I seriously considered commiting 10 years to as a house mother when I was 20. I can't wait to touch African land, to see the people, especially the children and to help as much as possible during the two weeks we'll be there. Afterwards, I have a week before I start classes again, begin two jobs as a youth group leader and a manager at a coffeehouse and maintain my relationship with Eric. Still can't complain when my peers have kids and full-time jobs to juggle. In other news, Grandma's moving to New Hampshire this week so now my mom's side of the family has all transitioned to New England from western PA even though one uncle and aunt are moving to Dubai (wow).

Oh, and camp went well. Really well. Mr. Tim and the rest of HOPE staff were great to work with. I miss our kids already. Especially the six-year old girl who called me, "Miss Heathery!" I don't miss the emotional strain of being responsible for teenage drug dealers and gang members. I'm absolutely glad they were able to come to camp, more glad that they behaved and so thankful for the male staff who held their own. But I was a little stressed...

God worked in amazing ways this summer. We witnessed Him change hearts and attitudes of hardened young people. I was blessed to hold children as they cried, to pray with them, to teach and encourage them. It's my dream job. That's all I want to say about that now.

I forgot the blog password and couldn't update...

1. Sorry for not updating in forever.

2. This summer has been amazing. Co-deaning HOPE Camp is my dream job-- leading high-risk kids on hikes, through Bible studies, on natural waterslides at a state park and through various other camp activities. Mr. Tim's a great co-dean and we are generally on the same page about a lot of decisions concerning scheduling and disciplining. Believe it or not, we have not had a single fist fight this whole summer! I don't want to speak too soon because we've got three intense weeks ahead, but that's an impressive record for the previous five weeks. So many memories to tuck away including a frog hunt with ten-year olds dressed in watershoes and ponchos, carrying flashlights as they searched under every leaf, a impromtu campfire with the girls where they saw a shooting star, intense conversations about the kids' home lives, more intense sleepless nights due to campers' nightmares, smiles and hugs from familiar kids and making friends with new campers. One of my favorite moments of the week is after I song lead on Monday morning when I drive up to the cabins and the kids who've just arrived come greet me at the car with grins and hugs. WHY ISN'T THIS A FULL-TIME JOB?! What should I do with this passion for these kids, for teaching and demonstrating (or at least doing my best to demonstrate) God's love for them? What's next, God?

3. I finally got to see Eric again after seven weeks. That was a long time to be apart and I had a great time meeting his hometown friends and helping teach the rumba to his fellow summer actors for Songs for a New World. Only three more weeks before we head off to Uganda... May God speak to each of us on the team teaching us how to serve and to love like Christ. If I must leave HOPE Camp, I am thankful that I have the opportunity to go to Africa three days later.

4. I am officially *cough* twenty-four. Why is it some ages seem young, but others seem old? Thirty-four = totally young. ;-) Twenty-four = why isn't that girl married?! Just kidding (not really). My mind can change on a dime, "I want to be married" to "There's no way I'm ready to be a wife. I can barely stay in the same state for four months..." Regardless, I try to lift up my life to God daily and remember He's got a better plan than I do.

5. I'm also officially jealous of the Sexton family. It's not the covetness jealousy, but rather the "Wow, they just continue to add beautiful additions to their diverse family and I hope I have a similar opportunity some day (soon, please God)." Mom wants an Asian grand-daughter. I'll try to work on that for her. :-)

6. If you have a chance, please pray for our HOPE campers. If you want more details, I would love to tell you more about these beautiful kids. Just a couple of the common experiences these kids have is witnessing street fights on their streets and drug use and abuse in their homes. God loves these children immensely and their prayers are often desperate ones for their loved ones.

One down, seven to go

Last week went exceedingly well with eight 13-16 year olds specifically concerning good behavior and indepth conversations about Biblical purity. Worst parts: A counselor being bit by a spider (we've got two types of poisonous spiders in this area but she was okay), two counselors getting lost in the state park and then the former counselor just mentioned fracturing her finger. Poor Miss Ashley barely shed any tears and keeps raving about how much she loves this job. :-)

This week, we're expecting twenty-three 12-14 year olds. If you could throw up a prayer concerning God's will being done at HOPE Camp, about the ability of counselors and deans to respond appropriately to possible attitudes and fights between campers and for an overall blessed week, we'd greatly appreciate it!

Time for the staff meeting... Miss you all. Wishing that gas prices weren't so high so I could roadtrip to see you!

A perfect moment in time

My first HOPE campers of the summer arrive tomorrow morning. All of the teenagers are returners and some of them I've known for five years. I can't wait to spend quality time with them, listen to their stories from the past year and to encourage them.

Also, as my mom said this morning, "God really does answer prayers!" A very gracious sponsor recently sent in a large check to help me go to Uganda this August. I can finally smile and believe that God is making it possible for me to walk on the ground of the continent I have desired to visit for years. It wasn't that I was questioning His ability to get me there, but rather whether or not this supposed to be the opportunity for me to go. I CANNOT WAIT to look into the eyes of orphan children and to do my best to share God's love with them while I am there. I can't wait to see the strong adults who are struggling to support each other in the midst of starvation, disease and poverty. I am already inspired by them and I am praying to understand what my role may be in relation to our brothers and sisters in Uganda.

I am so thankful for the opportunity to work with our beautiful HOPE campers who come from challenging home situations here in the US before flying to Kampala. God is blessing me immensely with the opportunity to spend time with the people He has laid on my heart.

Since my campers are arriving tomorrow, I'll probably be MIA for a while happily spending as much time with them as possible during the five days they are here at Jumonville. And, yes, Amie, it's hot here too. We're just seven degrees behind you!

Miss Heather HOPE

Jville's doing well.

We're in the third and final week of training and my first week of campers arrive on Monday.

Our HOPE staff is fantastic. Two old HOPE staffers, two old program staffers and two new counselors. It's all good. I can't wait to see familiar campers who've surely grown in the past year.

Erik finally married Lisa. Eric, Tricia and I had a good time at the wedding and I enjoyed seeing old friends. :-)

Still need to raise about $950 to help build an orphanage in Uganda this August. If anyone has any fundraising ideas that would be feasible for a camp dean who works 24 hours/6 days a week, please let me know!