A Page from My Journal

Although songs such as "Walking in a Winter Wonderland" and "Jingle Bells" aren't heard here in Kampala often (and absolutely don't make any sense here, either!) the Christmas music is playing (I recognise it from last year)and decorations are up. The city is ridiculously crowded, markets spilling into the streets more than usual, and just tons and tons of people everywhere! And we are getting ready to celebrate!!!

Today is our Christmas party for the street kids, organized by the lovely Jessie and Abby. We didn't tell the kids exactly what we've planned, because if word got out and spread through the street kid network, sooo many kids would come! But...everyone's supposed to show up by 1, already bathed and dressed. Then we'll all walk to a pool that is being rented for a few hours so the kids can swim. Then a huge meal, with special foods. A Christmas movie. Games. Presents.

And then late this evening, the 3 of us Americans and a few of the Ugandans will make our way to the church again for a bonfire and read the Christmas story and then spend the night with the kids. Abby and I are hoping we can use the cardboard from the boxes the Christmas presents are in to sleep on. We probably won't get much sleep, but it means the world the kids to have us present as they fall asleep, and then to see us as soon as they open their eyes in the morning. Like having caring parents again. This is one of the greatest ways to celebrate Christmas!

And then tomorrow, with whatever gifts we have left, we'll trapse around the slums of Kampala looking for street kids who haven't gotten gifts yet.

On Christmas Eve, a large number of us will be descending on the Ssenge house where we will have presents, movies, games, hot chocolate and lots and lots of food for several days...I'm looking forward to having so many friends and family part of this year's festivities!

Merry Christmas to all...and I pray your celebrations are just as full of joy and the love of Christ as ours will be!

I love birthdays! I love getting to celebrate the life of a person, of letting them know that they are special and beloved, that God created them specifically to be born on a certain day, at a particular time, to fulfill a particular purpose.

Not many Ugandans celebrate their birthdays. Why not, I'm not totally sure. For most of the boys in our home, we let them choose their birthday. And when their chosen day comes, we love to celebrate- cakes, special foods, invite the uncles, special games...

Yesterday, there was a birthday. it wasn't for one of the boys this time, but for Collins. He's always known his birthday. But what I discovered yesterday, was that he has never celebrated it before. Just another day that passed. I invited him to Ssenge, and we honored another year of his life Ssenge style...a football game that lasted for hours, lots and lots of pineapple, cake, a 'new' game-limbo!, and speeches.

The speeches are so important here- telling people how much you love and appreciate them. And it blessed me immensely to see my boys and the co-workers in our family home stand up one by one and tell their Uncle Collins how much he meant to them and how special he was. It was so much fun to let him know how glad we are that he is part of our family.

Life is so precious. And it might just change the course of a person's life if you let them know how much they mean to you and the impact they've had on your life.

Back to Uganda's red soils, cloudbursts and hot sun. Back to Kampala, Rubaga, Ssenge, and Kivulu. Back to searing truth, broken hearts, mending souls, painful love. Back to life.

Last night the boys were playing kick the can. George ran to tag Ronnie. But Ronnie was running with every ounce of his little 5 year old self, and the two boys collided. Ronnie's feet went out from under him and he landed, omph, in a cloud of orangy-red dust. Ronnie doesn't cry much, he's way to tough for such little kid things. But his breath was knocked out of him and his nose was bleeding and the tears started to fall as he gasped for air. I jumped up from my seat on the veranda and ran over to him. He was gulping air, the tears were turning muddy from the dust on his face and he was shaking. I walked him over to the steps and calmed him down. He sat rigidly, trying to regain his dignity...but eventually melted into the crook of my elbow and leaned against my shoulder while the tears dried into my sleeve.

I love getting to watch Ronnie become a child again. A year in our family has done wonders for this adorable little boy. He's grown a lot in the past 4 months while I was gone. It's such a privilege to get to watch the boys change.

Please pray for me as I adjust back to Uganda, and also that I would know what direction God wants me to take in this next section of the amazing journey He has been taking me on.

As I looked around my room today to sort and pack items, I started to cry- it's so hard for me say goodbye to my family and not know when I will see any of them again. And to pack my belongings away and again surrender the material comforts of NY and get ready to go back to an African village without running water or any extras. I do love it there, and I'm sure once I get back I will be fine, but there is a bit of apprehension in my heart. I also realized today that I have a fear of Ugandan illnesses inside me- I just hate the thought of being sick there again. All of these confessions are just so that you know specifically how to pray for me over the next few days.

For the next week of NY I'm going to cherish...

In the next week of NY, I'm going to be anticipating:

I spent this past weekend at a BASIC conference (a conference for college students, mostly). I was never involved in the campus group when I was in school, but I had the opportunity to go to the conference this year along with the Uganda Water Project and Isaiah Six Ministries (a partner organization in Uganda). The weekend was great. I got a lot more out of the conference and sessions than I had planned (funny how God catches us off guard, huh?). But the most lasting impression I have was from a worship session the very first night…
 

“Into marvelous light I’m running…”, and in my mind’s eye I saw my boys in Uganda running through the compound in Ssenge, completely free and happy and loved.

“I can’t get enough of you, for I am in love with you…”, and in my mind’s eye I saw myself arriving on the back of a motorcycle to my house in Ssenge, and my 12 boys pouring through the green metal doors of the house, slipping their toes into their sandals and mobbing the bike before it can even coast to a stop. Their hands are in the air, their faces are split with smiles, and their voices are shrill in shouting, “Mommy Jeska, Mommy Jeska!!” I always pull my money out of my pocket early in the trip so that maybe, just maybe, I can try to slip off the motorcycle before the boys reach me, but at least I can pay the driver fairly quickly. There is so much joy in my heart at the end of the day when this routine happens, when I see the life and happiness and sense of belonging that the boys in my home have learned they have. The cares and worries of the day lighten off my shoulders as my boys take my hands and lead me into the house where we will sit in a circle and have supper together.

As I processed these 2 images and the joy that my heart felt just at the memories, I realized just a fraction of the joy God takes in us. He pulls us from the miry clay, He takes us from the dirt and filth of society and offers us a home in Him. He calls us His own, His beloved, His precious child. He desires for us to run to Him, to wrap our arms around Him in a great big hug, to hold onto His hands as tightly as possible, to share the highs and lows of the day with Him. He wants us to cuddle up next to Him as He reads a bedtime story. Just as my heart floats away when 5-year-old Ronny calls me “Jeska wange- My Jessica”, how much more so does God’s heart delight when we turn and look full in His face and say, “Daddy wange- My Daddy!”

I was enraptured with the thought of how much delight God takes in me. And then I thought about the fact that I don’t make my boys run out to meet me each day…and in the same way, God will not force us to run to Him. But that is exactly what I- what we- should do each day- we should run to Him each day, with our arms outstretched, with expectation in our hearts, with the knowledge that He will gather us in His arms and that it will be the happiest moment of His day- when His child runs, freely, into His arms of love.

I love my boys. I love my job. And I love what God teaches me about Himself through them.

 

Hope you can see these pictures ok. The same day that Michael Jackson died (see earlier post), a street boy was killed by the police while he was sleeping. I do understand and acknowledge that some street kids are thieves, and I do agree that the police have a duty to arrest thieves. But I do know that this boy had not stolen on this particular day, and I do not believe it is just for a policeman to shoot a boy while he sleeps, has happened in this case.

On the left side of the top picture is a small wooden frame- about 10 teenage boys live in this little hovel, covering it with plastic at night. After the killing of their friend, they wrote on the wall, and I carried my camera around for 2 weeks trying to get up the nerve to take a picture of it. When I finally got the chance I had been waiting for, I asked the boys' permission first, because it's their home, their artwork, and because I wanted them know that I was not going to use them. I asked them if I could share their wall with you because I care about them and I want to help them share their story. I wanted to be able to show you their hurt and their sadness, their pain at losing a brother, and their righeous anger at being abused.

It’s the middle of the night, again, and I can’t sleep, again. A realization has been settling on me, one that is painful but I have to come to grips with. I will never be at ‘home’. Even when I come back to my roots, it’s not me anymore and relating is so hard, restarting relationships, trying to continue on when you haven’t seen friends in a year, and will only share once over a cup of coffee.

 

Even though I look like everyone else here, I feel most uncomfortable- I stand stunned at the endless selections in the grocery store, shiver in the air-conditioning, and stumble foolishly over American coins that feel so small and light in my fingers. As much as I’m happy to sleep in my old bed and wake up to breakfast with my family, as much as going to my home church is great, it’s no match for the voices that cry out in my dreams- big brown eyes filled with trust that I won’t leave them, but asking where I’ve gone. It’s no match for the ache that I’m enjoying my family while “my kids” cry in their sleep on the streets, just wishing someone cared for them. 
 

 

I’ll never be 100% “home” there, either- wherever “there” might be… the place where I look different, where I stumble over a simple sentence, where I have to learn life all over again- but where life happens in it’s rawest form, where life and death present themselves too plainly for comfort- but leave no question marks in your mind. Where a hot shower never happens, but where your soul has never felt more clean because it’s been turned inside out. Where people will sit and retell you their life story even though everyday has been the same for the past 27 years. Even though it’s different, a place where truth is brutally honest is easier to live in. At least when your heart is torn out and crushed, in gathering the little pieces together you can see that you are no better than them and you accept others for nothing else than that they have accepted you, too. 
 

We arrived back in NY a week ago. It was so great to be in Haiti, to see brothers and sisters in Christ there, to visit churches and to reconnect with a place my heart calls home. One of our first days in Haiti, I was told that a friend of mine named Yotaire is very sick and “he can’t walk right”. We tried to find out what was wrong but got no answers.

The last time I saw Yotaire was 3 years ago in NY, on a cold December day. He and another Haitian friend had been living in Houghton, NY doing a training program at the same time I was a student there. They had been trying for years (literally) to get to NY when I first met them in Haiti in 2004- and in one of our first conversations, Yotaire and Jean and I agreed that God probably knew I needed them to help me in Haiti before they needed me to help them in NY…and that’s just how it seemed to work out. But in the meantime, they spent their time working for God, building up the church and the body of Christ in Haiti.

We arrived back in NY a week ago. It was so great to be in Haiti, to see brothers and sisters in Christ there, to visit churches and to reconnect with a place my heart calls home. One of our first days in Haiti, I was told that a friend of mine named Yotaire is very sick and “he can’t walk right”. We tried to find out what was wrong but got no answers.
The last time I saw Yotaire was 3 years ago in NY, on a cold December day. He and another Haitian friend had been living in Houghton, NY doing a training program at the same time I was a student there. They had been trying for years (literally) to get to NY when I first met them in Haiti in 2004- and in one of our first conversations, Yotaire and Jean and I agreed that God probably knew I needed them to help me in Haiti before they needed me to help them in NY…and that’s just how it seemed to work out. But in the meantime, they spent their time working for God, building up the church and the body of Christ in Haiti.

But now Yotaire is sick. I went with my sister and our almost-brother Doc to visit Yotaire and my heart dropped when he tried to stand up to greet us. Looking the same as ever sitting on his couch, his legs turned to jelly when he tried to stand, and a bit of fear was in his eyes as he grabbed onto the wall. We spent the next hour talking about his symptoms and catching up on life, marveling over his beautiful 6-month-old daughter and chatting with his gorgeous, sweet wife. Doc did several tests on Yotaire, trying to determine what might be going on our friend- his movements were un-coordinated, his response time was slow, and his voice had a ring of desperation to it. He has gone to see doctors in Haiti, but all they have done is taken blood tests which come back clear, tell him nothing is wrong, and send him home. It doesn’t take a doctor to see that there is something seriously wrong.
After the tests and doing some follow-up research, Doc believes that Yotaire, at 32 years of age, has Parkinson’s Disease. The name of the disease wasn’t familiar to Yotaire or his wife, and although it wasn’t good news, at least it was an answer. At least a doctor was telling them something worthwhile and not just sending him home. At least there was a little bit of light at the end of the tunnel.

When we stopped in a few days later to check on them, Yotaire was telling me how unsettling this whole situation has been for him. It’s been hard for him to work- he translates radio programs and scripts, as well as repairs computers- because his coordination has deteriorated so rapidly that he can’t type very quickly or very well anymore. He told me that since he can’t work, there are days that he and his wife wonder how they will eat that day- so they bow their heads and pray, trusting God to sustain them…and without fail there has been a knock at the door and someone has blessed them with food.
My throat was tight and my eyes were stinging and I was trying not to let this precious friend see how sad I was for his situation. He kept saying, “I know God will provide. I don’t know why I’m sick- these legs have walked long distances and climbed mountains to preach God’s word, my voice has been used to sing His praises, my hands have done His work. I don’t know why it’s like this, but I KNOW God will take care of us and I KNOW He will provide for us. I am trusting Him.”

I honestly don’t know if I have ever, ever seen such trusting faith.
We would like to help Yotaire with a voice-recognition program for his computer so that he can continue doing translation work- as long as he can work, he can continue to provide for his family, and make some money so that he can travel to the Dominican Republic to see a neurologist and actually get a diagnosis (to the best of our knowledge, Haiti has no neurologists). Please pray for Yotaire, Nadia, and Raquel.

But now Yotaire is sick. I went with my sister and our almost-brother Doc to visit Yotaire and my heart dropped when he tried to stand up to greet us. Looking the same as ever sitting on his couch, his legs turned to jelly when he tried to stand, and a bit of fear was in his eyes as he grabbed onto the wall. We spent the next hour talking about his symptoms and catching up on life, marveling over his beautiful 6-month-old daughter and chatting with his gorgeous, sweet wife. Doc did several tests on Yotaire, trying to determine what might be going on our friend- his movements were un-coordinated, his response time was slow, and his voice had a ring of desperation to it. He has gone to see doctors in Haiti, but all they have done is taken blood tests which come back clear, tell him nothing is wrong, and send him home. It doesn’t take a doctor to see that there is something seriously wrong.
After the tests and doing some follow-up research, Doc believes that Yotaire, at 32 years of age, has Parkinson’s Disease. The name of the disease wasn’t familiar to Yotaire or his wife, and although it wasn’t good news, at least it was an answer. At least a doctor was telling them something worthwhile and not just sending him home. At least there was a little bit of light at the end of the tunnel.

When we stopped in a few days later to check on them, Yotaire was telling me how unsettling this whole situation has been for him. It’s been hard for him to work- he translates radio programs and scripts, as well as repairs computers- because his coordination has deteriorated so rapidly that he can’t type very quickly or very well anymore. He told me that since he can’t work, there are days that he and his wife wonder how they will eat that day- so they bow their heads and pray, trusting God to sustain them…and without fail there has been a knock at the door and someone has blessed them with food.
My throat was tight and my eyes were stinging and I was trying not to let this precious friend see how sad I was for his situation. He kept saying, “I know God will provide. I don’t know why I’m sick- these legs have walked long distances and climbed mountains to preach God’s word, my voice has been used to sing His praises, my hands have done His work. I don’t know why it’s like this, but I KNOW God will take care of us and I KNOW He will provide for us. I am trusting Him.”

I honestly don’t know if I have ever, ever seen such trusting faith.
We would like to help Yotaire with a voice-recognition program for his computer so that he can continue doing translation work- as long as he can work, he can continue to provide for his family, and make some money so that he can travel to the Dominican Republic to see a neurologist and actually get a diagnosis (to the best of our knowledge, Haiti has no neurologists). Please pray for Yotaire, Nadia, and Raquel.

Update on Joel and Shafik...they are back home in Ssenge! I don't have any details, just that they realized their mistake and were brought home again to a place that loves them. God is good!

I spent the majority of last night sitting on a rooftop, overlooking the outskirts of Cap Haitian, Haiti. I laid on my back and watched the clouds move across the moon and searched for constellations high above me. Everything was relatively quiet as there was a blackout in the city- I was lying up there with two beautiful sisters in Christ, Heather and Mary, and we were pouring our hearts out and sharing our thoughts and fears and joys. These 2 young women are helping to run a home here in Haiti with 10 children in  it. As soon as I saw them for the first time at a church service on Sunday afternoon, I felt and immediate draw to them, and after just a moment of talking there was an instant bond- these 2 are in almost the same position I am, doing the same work, feeling the same heartache and frustrations.

I'm here in Haiti with 3 of the people I'm closest to, but it's been hard for me to really truly open up and share some of the deeper thoughts that have been on my heart- whether it's because I've had so much trust broken in the past months that I find it hard to trust again, that I fear that they won't understand or won't be interested... whatever it is, it prevents me from talking about what's inside, and prevents me from sleeping much at night...pictures and memories and kid's faces flash through my head when my eyes are closed.

So God sent me 2 strangers who are living in a more difficult situation than I am, and who needed someone just as much as I needed them...and as we shared and prayed, God began a healing process in my heart. Thanks be to Him- He is always closer than we think.

It seems like heartache is the story of my life! Man...

I'm in Haiti right now for 2 weeks (returning to NY on the 16th) with my dad, my sis, and one of my best friends. We're doing some building projects, running several chiropractic clinics, and visiting myriads of beloved friends and fellow believers.

I called to Uganda this morning to check on some situations there, and was told that 2 more of my boys, Shafik and Joel, had run away from Ssenge home.

It's hard to believe that those words are true, but they are. And it broke my heart, yet again... why, God, when they were doing so well? How can such a good thing turn out bad?

It hurts so much. Dear God...

Back in America....It feels odd to be here. My thoughts are constantly back on the streets of Kampala, in Ssenge playing with the boys, meeting up with street kids near the taxi parks...

I heard today that the new half-way house will be opening on Saturday... and a number of street boys will have a new home to come home to at night, a place where they can sleep in safety and eat in peace, where they can grow healthy and strong and recieve love. Two Ugandans that I have worked with will be living there, and I'm so excited that these boys will recieve the loving care of 2 committed Christians!

I've been back in the US for about 36 hours, and I'm leaving in 48 hrs to return to Haiti (for long time readers, back in the "1st" and "2nd Chapters" of this incredible journey God has been taking me on!) for 2 weeks. I'll be helping in medical clinics and at a building site, probably primarily as a translator...pray that my mind can sort out between Luganda and Haitian! Yikes!

When I get back from Haiti, I will be traveling around visiting people and speaking at a few churches...if you would like to meet up, please get in touch with me (either comment on here or e-mail me at jessmcd17@yahoo.com) and I will keep you up-to-date on my schedule...


During a phone call back to Uganda today, I asked about several boys...one of whom is named Zairewa. Originally from the Congo, I met Zairewa last October and was scared of him. About 18 yrs old, he was higher than a kite, wrapped up in a woman's rain coat/ with a hat and sunglasses on (at night!) and dancing to the song he was singing himself. It was during one of our night outreaches that I first saw him, and I shied away from him- few kids truely scare me, but he made me nervous.

Over the past few months, Zairewa has made a few changes to his life- he's stopped the drugs, become more serious, and approached us about returning home or going to school. 2 1/2 weeks ago, he was shot by the police in the leg (x-rays show that the bullet didn't go into the leg).  Since being out of the country, my thoughts have been returning to him often... something nagging me that I need to help him get into a better situation and show him how utterly proud of him I am for him taking the initiative to change his life around.

Please pray for Zairewa and that God would provide a way for help him finish making the final steps to change the course of his life. Maybe to Congo, or maybe to vocational school...please pray with me for God to give us wisdom and to take care of this young man.

Whenever Paul gets up to talk to a group of street kids, he likes to get their attention by saying, "God is good-" and then waits for the response from the kids, "-All the time!" I hear it so much, that I don't think about it anymore.

A few days ago, I heard one of the boys mimicking the line, "God is good-" and I automatically gave the response, "-All the time." The boy just looked at me. After a few minutes, he said, "I don't think that's true. God isn't good ALL the time. 'Cause when we're hungry or the police are beating us or there isn't anywhere to sleep but on a veranda, God's not good then."

It was my turn to just look at the boy. How do I explain to him that God is still good...especially when I can't actually fathom it myself? I live in a beautiful house, with 4 walls and a good roof, a bed w/ clean sheets and blankets and a mosquito net. I have more than enough clothes and several pairs of shoes. There are left overs of food at my house, and lots of clean drinking water. I have money to pay my transport, and I can even call back to the US and it doesn't hurt my pocketbook too much. I have parents, 2 of them, and they're still married and I know without a doubt they love me. I have siblings and we're all friends, and then lots of friends on top of that.

I sighed and didn't respond to the boy, because I knew I couldn't explain. Even I find it hard to think that God is good all the time, I've learned that I just have to trust that He is... but I don't know how to say it in words.


I leave early tomorrow for the US... should be an interesting few weeks of travel and adjustment and heartache at not being able to see my boys...

Hopefully soon I can add some more photos.

I'm not sure where to start, things are happening, volunteers are coming and going, programs are finding life again, and I'm getting ready to go back to the US for some much needed R^R. I'm not sure how I'm feeling about all that...except there's a huge amount of relief.

After so much heartache and insecurity, God has rained down blessings upon us! First a church to use as our base to work from, bathing facilities to help the boys stay clean and healthy, a storage container to keep our things dry and to keep items on hand, a nearby medical clinic... it's seemed almost too good to be true. It's not posh, but it more than suffices. Several times, I've thought back to all that we used to do in the slums and the difficulties working there. I miss being in Kisenyi, actually. I now feel that I can enter in once in a while to check on kids (although, during my last two visits, I witnessed more fighting than ever among the boys, as well as the first time I've seen hard drugs- heroin- being used, right in the same alley I used to sit and talk to the boys in...)but sometimes I wonder how much impact our presence there had, and what has changed now that we're gone...there's not that safe alley dedicated to Jesus anymore.

One of the things that has weighed most on my mind has been the fact that when I left Kisenyi, the rooms that we rented were no longer available for the kids to sleep in. They were back on the streets and at the mercy of police and thugs and the elements. From the first moment, I have been praying for some other place to rent where the boys could safely sleep...

Along with our new location, we asked about the possibility of renting some rooms...and we were shown a complete house, with a wall and gate and the dream of having a 1/2 way house with lots of the youngest boys staying there with a house father (or couple) who could monitor them and start the rehab process until we would be able to find them homes or return them to their families or put them in school! The possibilities are endless...

As we were walking out the compound, we were all agreeing to pray that the powers that be would grant us permission to use the house, and Collins said, "God has given us so much more than we had before." It's so true. We were doing before what we thought was right, and I believe God allowed some hard things to happen so that we wouldn't be able to continue the way that we were. If we listen when God whispers, amazing things can happen.

AS the world mourns the death of the King of Pop....

A message on my phone this morning read, " One of the Gulu Boys was killed last night."

A follow-up phone call confirmed a shooting.

a follow-up conversation confirmed the police as the guilty party.

Who will mourn for this street boy?
 
May God have mercy on us.

My little guy Sharif. He's 9 years old. He's a mad break-dancer, an incredible soccer player, absolutely adorable, and as hardened a street kid as any of them.

I found him have some sort of brawl w/ Monday and Shafik yesterday, and i wasn't sure what happened 'cept Sharif was crying like a baby and huffing like crazy. I had something to do with someone at the church we work from. The kids ran when they saw me, and it took some coaxing to get them to come to me. They finally did, and taking them by the wrists i got them to go to the church w/ me, tears running down their cheeks and sobs wracking their bodies...

They were mad. They'd shown up at the church w/ lots of drugs, and someone made them throw the drugs away. It broke their little hearts. Sharif wouldn't stop talking and telling them how much he hated them. He wouldn't go bathe, he wouldn't calm down. The local kids started to laugh at him, which made him mad. I was holding onto him for a long time, and then finally got him to sit down...but another kid made him so mad he jumped up, grabbed a stone, and was ready to attack. I managed to catch him as he ran by...and instead of him fighting my grasp, he more like crumpled in my arms, sobbing and crying and huffing the petrol that was on a spot on his shirt.

I wanted to go and get the program started, get things moving...but this poor little guy had returned to the childhood phase and his heart was breaking. He'd lost 500/- worth of drugs (25 cents) and it must have triggered so many memories. I stood w/ him in my arms while his sobs turned to hickups, and then he got tired and wanted to sit down. So we sat in the dirt against a brick wall in the sunshine and I told Sharif I loved him, and when i wanted to repeat it, he wouldn't look me in the face.

He told me his mother is gone, and his father beat him and told him he couldn't sleep in the house.

I love Sharif so much, he's the cutest thing walking the streets of Kampala. But he's tough and stubborn and at this point won't make it in a rehab home. Please pray for him- That he would continue to come to us and trust us, that he would cut back on his drugs (he sells his food for drugs), and that there would be a place to take him where he would receive one-on-one love and care.

He's one of God's most precious lambs.

Traumatized. I hear the word all over the place, it's a common issue in the population that I work with. And it hit me the other day in a way I never expected.

I was walking down the street when I saw a Congolese friend of mine,and we stopped to talk. And as we were talking, we heard a crunch and a squeal and then some shouting...and right next to us a car hit a bodaboda. I saw a woman sliding across the pavement, a man limping to the side of the road, another man sitting in the middle of the road and a motorcycle crumpled up into a tiny piece of rubbish. The man in the middle of the road was bleeding from his head.

After a year here, I now know that most Ugandans don't have any medical/first aide knowledge, so there was no way I could count on 'somebody else' to take care of it. I told my friend to help the guy off the road and i ran into the gas station to get water and a few dish towels. There were probably 100 people looking on by the time I got back to the guy, and he was laying at the side of the road in the dry grass. There was blood pouring from a deep gash on his right temple. As I soaked the towel in water and put it on the cut, he told me his knee hurt...so I lifted up the pant leg and saw the most disgusting thing, his entire knee was flayed open and I could see bone and ligament...I couldn't look any more.

We managed to tie the 2nd towel around his knee and I got him to calm down. Someone got a van to come to transport him to the hospital, and the police were filling out forms. Everyone assumed I knew the guy, but I had no idea who the man was. It turned out he was 18 years old and coming back from buying sugar. We couldn't get through to anyone on his phone, but he was bleeding so much I knew we had to get him to the hospital. The police couldn't get anyone who was willing to take the guy, so I got in the van after we lifted him in...as soon as i was beside him, he went from his sitting position to slouched over in my lap. (Ok, Lord, so this is what you wanted me to do today? I had other plans...)

We had a police escort to the hospital- sirens blaring and "racing" over speed bumps and potholes. My congolese friend came with me, and we just prayed for him the entire way and kept trying to call his family members and stop the bleeding from his head and not hit his leg....

At the hospital, they brought an army stretcher out and my friend and I pulled the guy out of the van onto the stretcher (no hospital personelle to be seen), wheeled him to the desk, and while the police threatened the driver who hit the guy (who rode along to pay for the transport vehicle)we pushed him into the hallway called the "casualty ward". Death ward was what it felt like.

A doctor finally came to look at the guy (whose name, we discovered through police questions, was patrick) and pulled the towels off and wrapped him up in gauze (but didn't wipe any blood away). As I watched him take the towel off the knee, i again saw the exposed bone and a huge clot fell into the stretcher...i slid down the wall and sat on the floor, trying not to pass out, when i noticed that the next stretcher had a man with a head injury and a very rigid body...i believe I was watching a man die a slow and painful tetanus death. I ran out to the waiting room and found a place to sit before the floor completely swirled up to meet me, but it was close, very close.

Hospitals here provide very little for patients, and i realized i couldn't just leave this guy- i had to wait until he got through to a family member to come and take care of him. In the process of waiting, we did manage to get x-rays taken and i got to see many other accident victims wheeled into the hall to wait (there weren't enough beds for all of them).

At one point, Patrick called out to me..."Mama, here..." and he pointed to the blood running across his forehead. I wiped it away with the towel. A few moments later, he called me again.."Mama..." The gauze opn the head wound was soaked in blood, and soon the blood was running faster and faster over his face. I tried to get a nurse and a doctor to change the dressing- the first one told me not to touch blood (well, duh, but you're not taking care of him either!) and the second one finally told me that the cotton was in the storage room and he didn't know if they would be bringing any. The x-ray man wouldn't do the x=rays at first b/c there was too much blood...finally, the second one returned to say he couldn't find any gauze either, so they wheeled him in a took pictures while i slumped against the wall, screaming inside at a government who doesn't provide cotton and gauze to their country's main hospital.

After about 2 1/2 hours of waiting and trying to stay alert through the fuzziness of fainting, a man walked up and covered his mouth...the father had arrived. Behind him stood a beautiful young woman, Patrick's sister, and tears started to roll down her cheek. I repeated the story, "WE were standing there and saw the accident and tried to help him and brought him here but I don't really know what happened. I think he will be ok." And I tried to ease their worries while they looked at their 18 year old son and brother who, by this time, was litterally lying in a pool of blood (the gauze and towels were beyond saturated at this point).

I gave the father some money and walked from the hospital as fast as possible.

I'm still in shock from it...but dear God, I pray that You heal that man and that You stopped the blood from flowing...this is such a crazy place I live in.

My posts on here are awfully spotty, I know. Some of you reading this must wonder what has happened, because you hear that amazing things happen in the slums of Kampala...so why doesn't Jess share?

Well, lately, it's been because Jess' heart was broken. We've had problems in the past month and 1/2. It would have helped me to write, but every time I would start the tears would flow and my mind would blank. A pastor friend from the US called me and told me to write to everyone, to call on others to pray...and I honestly never got a chance to write that e-mail.

Our amazing slum program fell apart. There has always been a lot of conflict and confusion in the slums- people resent street kids, and particularly resent when they get help. Why are these Americans pouring so much time and money into worthless kids? (The answer they will never understand: Because God uses the foolish things of the world to confound the wise, and uses the worthless things of the world to confound the rich...) The kids would come and tell me, "Auntie Jessica, everyone acts nice when you are here, but after you leave they start to say things. They say that you must not be very smart and must not be able to have a job where you come from, because anyone who could have a job would never come to take care of street kids." It made me sad that the people around were degrading the kids so much, but I had to smile...if only the people saying these things really knew! :) so I just told the kids, "It's ok if they say that. What they don't realize is that this IS the job God has given me to do, and I love it and I love each one of you!" And the boys would walk away with grins on their faces, sharing the secret of my love and attention.

Anyway- the typical conflicts in the slum were increasing, and then a man that was part of our partnership starting creating some problems. He actually made some big problems, and caused a lot of damaged that can be forgiven but can never be changed. And, as a result, our program dissolved. In the midst of all it was when Monday, our security guard, was killed- whether or not it was related, we'll never know.

It was all heart-wrenching for me- the thing i enjoyed most was ripped away, and I kept hearing reports from other friends about the condition of the kids (I was prevented from going into the slum at all, so I couldn't even see the kids). I would hear that they were sick, that they were starving, about the fights and the disagreements, and that the kids were asking where I was and if I was ok and if I would ever be back. Heart breaking. My pillow soaked up a lot of tears, as did my boyfriend's shoulder.

My only consolation in all of the mess was knowing that God loves and cares about the kids even more than I do. These children are His, He knows their names, He knows when they are sick and when they are hungry. I don't think all this mess was something God wanted, but I know that He can work every situation for His good... and so we prayed.

And, just as God always promises, if we pray, He will answer. And He has truly restored beauty for ashes, and He's turned our weeping into laughter and our mourning into dancing. After a few weeks, we re-vamped the program- slimmed down from 15 workers to 3, from 3 rented rooms to a spot on a smoldering trash pile in the sunshine. From a schedule that worked almost perfectly, to hit-and-miss timing. From hundreds of kids to 30. From a blossoming program to one with all the excess stripped away to reveal what God wanted us to focus on.

There is a church building close to the smoldering pile of trash, and after several weeks, many meetings, and our fervent prayers, we were granted permission to use their building. And their container to lock our supplies in. And their space next to the church to play games in. And their empty classrooms for their school. And the near-by toilets and water supply for bathing and washing...and it was much more than what we had prayed for!

After so many weeks of discouragement and tears, I'm finally smiling again. We had a lot of kids show up to our program yesterday- Day 2 at our new site. There's still a lot to work out, a lot of details that still need to be figured out. But as the kids sang and danced, I realized we hadn't been this happy in weeks.

God is really cool.

It's been a long time. I've been so busy, and so much has been happening. We have 21 people visiting and helping and volunteering and having their hearts touched.

But one thing I've never gotten to share with you...

There's a verse in the Bible that I have searched for and can't find, but it reads something like, "Scarcely will a person die for a good...the greatest sacrifice is to lay down your life for your friends."

What does that mean exactly? I think you could take that many ways...giving up your free time to help someone, moving to another country to serve, donating your money...but does it ACTUALLY mean dying for someone?

About 3 weeks ago now, I woke up to a message on my phone. "Jess, did you know that Monday in the slums died?" No, I didn't! Monday was the young man that we hired to be our security guard in the slums, he was the one that kept an eye on our kids, making sure they were in at night, and making sure that no one bothered them, calling us if someone was sick or someone needed help. He had a rough appearance, but as I got to know him I respected him and appreciated him for the work he did for us, and I enjoyed his company.

But he died. Not a peaceful one, not even the pain of illness. One night, a man came to bother a street kid (details are still a little sketchy) and Monday did his job to protect the boy and told the guy to go away. At some point, the man pulled out a piece of a broken mirror and stabbed our Monday, killing him very quickly. Several boys saw him die, and reported to the police. The next evening, the same boys saw the man who committed the crime, again reported to the police, and were able to have him arrested.

It has left everyone in shock. When the newspaper called me and asked me to give them a photo of Monday to put in the paper, I realized that it had actually happened, and I started sobbing...whether he knew it would happen or not, Monday litterally gave his life to protect street kids- he sacrificed himself for 'the least of these'.

One boy told me that since Monday died, he just hurts. He's not sick, but he just hurts everywhere. Many kids have decided to move away from that slum area, and many kids are asking for us to take them home...they have now seen what the end result of life on the street is, and they are worried that it might be them next.

He gave his life. I still can't believe it's real, I keep wishing I would wake up and find out its been one long, bad dream.

Pray for us. Things are crazy. But God has a plan, I'm sure of it.