He breaks His heart to get our attention, sometimes

I stared at the news flash on my computer screen Friday morning. I remember thinking, the timing couldn't have been worse. Christmas will not be merry. Those kids could very well have been mine, Adam Lanza too.

I picked my kids up that afternoon and hugged them tighter.
It is easy to worry about their safety at the daycare and school. I pray for them constantly to avoid going kuku.
This country is so big, there are vast numbers of people facing troubling issues of one kind or another. It is a "lonely society" - that doesn't help. The man across the road, the neighbor 2 blocks down, the woman in the grocery store.What do they do? What are they thinking? Do they have family? What trials are they facing? The official response is "I don't know and frankly, I don't care. I've got issues of my own".
We need to reach out, to break down the barriers and remold the culture. God is calling us as believers to cross that line. He is calling us to care enough to ask. Every one needs compassion, the kindness of a savior, someone to show genuine concern. Mental and psychological issues don't always stem from "medical diagnosis", it might be loneliness, self loathing or rejection, which can be remedied through a Jesus culture; a hug, a note to say "I love you", "I'm thinking about you".
Perhaps if we stopped for just a while, gave a smile, looked people in the eye, showed more interest in others, then we would experience Jesus. We would find true joy in living. Shades of grey would turn to color. The emptiness inside of us would be filled with Jesus the bread of life, the living water, the lover of our souls. He is the reason for the Christmas season and sometimes He has to break His heart and ours to get our attention.
I pray for the families.
I pray for the children who witnessed friends lives shredded right before their eyes - innocence slashed.
I pray for this nation, that we would live for what really matters. That the laws would be altered to focus on life as God intended it without selfish agendas.
That we would ...
"Think of yourselves the way Christ Jesus thought of himself. He had equal status with God but didn’t think so much of himself that he had to cling to the advantages of that status no matter what. Not at all. When the time came, he set aside the privileges of deity and took on the status of a slave, became human! Having become human, he stayed human. It was an incredibly humbling process. He didn’t claim special privileges. Instead, he lived a selfless, obedient life and then died a selfless, obedient death—and the worst kind of death at that—a crucifixion".
Philippians 2: 5-7

And all this to buy my pardon, to buy your pardon, to buy our pardon. It wasn't about Him, it was all about us.

Help us to see you, God give us your eyes. Heal the hurt and draw us closer to you forever.

My P4 English teacher.

As I write this blog post, a special woman is on my mind. I met her over 2 decades ago. Her name was Jennifer and she was my P4 English teacher. As we commemorate World Aids Day I think of her.

Ms. Jennifer was one of the most beautiful women I met in my first 8 or 9 years on this planet. She was probably in her early twenties, young, graceful and energetic. When she walked into the classroom a pleasant aroma filled the air. Her clothes fit just right, gently hugging her tall slender frame. Her big Afro was smooth like a curved sponge. I remember how she'd use the tip of a pencil to sooth the itch on her scalp while I dug into mine with all five fingers.
I was never afraid of her, mostly respectful. She didn't see reason to spank unless one clearly misbehaved  or failed English terribly but that was hardly ever the case. I loved to listen as she read excerpts from J.A.Bright's Junior English Composition and Grammar and The Nile English Course.
She was a confident, African woman, who had mastered the English language teaching us verbs, nouns, pronouns, adverbs, adjectives and more. I admired her.
I joined the Girl Guides club because she was one of the patrons. She taught me how to salute, to stand "at ease" with my feet slightly apart and my hands in a loose grip behind my back and to stand "alert" with my feet together and my hands in tight fists at my side. She smiled with pride when we sang the girl guide anthem she's taught us;
"Our way is clear as we march on and see our flag on high.
Is never furled through out the world for hope shall never die.
We must unite for what is right in friendship true and strong.
Until the earth in it's real birth shall sing a song, shall sing a song".

I caught a glimpse of her one late afternoon, while I was making my way through the taxi park . People pushed and shoved, conductors shouted taxi destinations, mini vans filled every little space. I had to wiggle my way through the micro spaces but I couldn't wade through the crowd fast enough. She looked a little haggard, her cheekbones were more pronounced, her clothes hang loosely on her tall frame. Her light beautiful skin was riddled with dark spots. My heart sunk as I watched her fade away.  The virus hadn't spared her. It didn't honor her beauty nor esteem her purpose here.
Many little girls and boys will not have the opportunity to sit in her class and listen to her read stories from J.A Bright.
I'm told she passed away.
Today I think of her, of Mr. Tibs, Mr. Sande, Mr.Zaddock and many other young men and women who caught the virus and were not even aware that it was lurking out there.
Then I think again - the means by which she met her end doesn't matter as much as her impact this side of heaven and more importantly if she made her way into the Pearly gates.
Right now, I'm grateful that she taught me English. Even though she is gone, it's a language that I will always know and remember her by.

Let us thank God for friends and family who have gone. Love and care for those who are still here battling this disease. And carefully steer clear of it's way; be faithful, abstain ... you know the works.

World Aids Day!

A girl needs a good shoe

I like a good shoe. I feel confident in a good shoe. It keeps toes and heels free of  blisters. I stand tall and walk with a little bounce. But recently I made the most interesting discovery.

A few weeks ago, I noticed that little Miss. A needed new shoes. She'd had three long serving pairs; Sandals, Snow boots and "Sunday best". With the cool temperatures setting in, sandals were impractical, besides, her toes nearly grabbed the front sole, not to mention that they were in shreds from summer escapades. The snow boots from last winter and the "Sunday best" faced a similar problem, they didn't fit any more.
Usually Mr. O or I would make the trip to the store, roughly gauge the size and bring home our findings to be fitted. It had worked in the past.  This time I thought it brilliant to take her along.

Once in the shoe store, we made our way to the kids section. I pulled out a shoe and she gladly tried it on. I saw another shoe that looked better and she tried it on too.Then she figured that instead of sitting and waiting for mom to bring the shoe, she would make her own picks, glitter being the main attraction. Before I knew it she was pointing at this shoe and pulling out the other shoe, steadily picking up speed and excitement as she went along. Her heart was racing, she was frantic. As I reorganized the store and returned the shoes she had scattered, she tapped my shoulder. She beamed her most brilliant smile, leaned forward, raised her eyebrows and as if she had discovered something extraordinary, said with finality, "Mommy, we go!". She was ready to walk out the store in this wonderful pair of multicolored rain boots. She was beside herself. She had found THE shoe! The only problem was, mommy had money enough for a pair of practical shoes. Rain boots wouldn't work for everyday use.

She would not let me touch her. She would not allow me to take the shoes off. Mommy was not good for her at this point in time, she lost all composure. She came undone. A serious case of meltdown. She screamed, her hands fell loosely at her sides as she shrugged her shoulders. Her little heart was breaking and falling to pieces right there on the shoe store floor. Tears were spilling out (at this point I would like you to imagine the animated cartoon characters with tears sprouting like a fountain).
I was beside myself too. Shoppers cast subtle glances, kids peeped from behind their parents. I had never seen little Miss. A  so unbraided. What had over taken my calm little Ms.? Why was she reacting so?
Turns out, she was truly spoiled for choice. Who knew that shoes would have such a profound impact on a 2 year old girl?
I finally managed to draw the curtain on the spectacle, I picked a pair of practical shoes and little Ms.A happily carried them all the way home. She promptly sat down on the living room floor and changed into her new shoes for the rest of that evening.

A good shoe. Every woman loves a good shoe. It runs in this family - mother, grandmothers' (one and two) and maybe even great grandmother (I will research).
So, I can't blame little Miss. A, she just needs to practice self control, that is how we all survive and sometimes ... it's just the lack of money.

Happy Friday!!!

The day after

It is official, Obama won reelection!  He has 4 more years to finish what he started and he had better because …

Last night I hoped to be awoken by screams of elation from the winning “side” (left/right) but the neighborhood was as quiet as the Vatican (but maybe it's just my village). Eyes were glued to TV screens and fingers were hitting refresh buttons. Fine!  I have no problem with that but after the results, couldn’t people shout ko? They got the news, turned off their TVs and went straight to bed quietly.

 I flash back to Uganda and the buzz that would go on in the streets till morning. The cheering - as if in a football match. How the sounds carried a clear indication of who had won. Everybody would give their opinion or argue about who stole votes and so on.

We didn’t even have a public holiday! People stood in winding lines, in the cold, for over 2 hours just waiting to cast their vote. It took another 15 or so minutes to finish the voting process - ticking and affirming political views on the piece of paper, surely one needed a holiday. Back home it takes a whole day just to  tick the “hat”, “hoe”, “Chair”, “key” . These people don’t know how to have fun, maximize relaxation and minimize stress. One can’t even “pull the excuse” of voting on their boss because there is the option of early voting; in person, online, through the post office – tight!!!

I got onto the bus this morning and saw the same sullen faces. It was another ordinary day – business as usual. We listened to the drub vroom of the bus except for those who had ear phones. And even then, it’s not certain whether they were listening to gangnum style or NPR (National Public Radio). There was no expression of happiness or disappointment, just blank stares and straight faces.  At that moment I missed Fat boy, CBS, Mr. President and every other radio presenter discussing a version of the results over the taxi radio. Maybe I can blame the weather - it’s really chilly out here but honesty, abantu bano bansobedde!.

I grabbed a newspaper at the train station eager to get the details on swing states and all that, and then sat next to a guy who couldn’t be bothered. Really?? Was there an election yesterday? I asked myself.  At least show some relief that campaigns are over, no more “This is … and I approve this message” ads. But then again, I’m a simple Ugandan woman, watching from a bird’s eye view or maybe an ant’s.  I should take my excitement elsewhere no?

# Culture shock or different life styles.

Who's in charge of our babies?

Lately news events have read like scripts out of Hollywood.

Murder in Manhattan. 
My eyes nearly popped out when I read the story of 2 children killed by their nanny in Manhattan. A chill went through my body and I immediately sent out a prayer for the mother who came home only to find her babies drenched in blood in the bathtub. O good Lord!!!
No body, no body should experience this heart break, but Ms. Krim has.
I could only imagine her screams of horror, blood rushing out of her brain as she denied what she saw.
She had 3 children.  Leo (Lito) - 2. Nessie - 3. Lulu - 6.
Leo and Lulu are gone. Nessie lives to tell the story, to live a life scarred by the memory of her siblings soaked in blood and the horrific screams of her mother struggling to get to grips with this nightmare, her body releasing the tension, the only way it knew how.
Ms. Krim kept a blog . As I  looked at the lovely pictures and read her journals, I identified with a mother who cherished the gifts God had given her. Pictures from the summer, days at the pumpkin patch, ordinary days in Manhattan - she was there, involved in the intricate details of her children's lives. Marveling as their personalities formed.
She writes, "Lito, I must say, is a very clever little boy.  He is super talkative and just has a million thoughts running through his brain and can express himself amazingly well for an almost-2 year old.  I'm thinking he could be a Mini-Kevin". (Kevin is her husband)
As a fellow mom and a blogger, this all comes from a familiar place.
I pray the  Krims' find Jesus, because this world has nothing to give in the form of true comfort.

Fathers and sons.
 I read two different stories of fathers' accidentally shooting their sons to death. These may sound like scenes off the pages of a novel, imaginations out of a creative mind but no! It's reality. I can't begin to understand the dread and self loathing these fathers will face the rest of their lives but I know they are going through some dark times. Their stomachs wretch and turn until there is nothing to give up but still the haunting thought that they killed their own sons... suicide is an alluring option.

I find myself silently praying for them because apart from Christ there is no way to get out of that "hell".

Gone with a trace.
In the same period, I read in the news of a 10 year old girl who was going to meet up with her friends and walk to school but didn't make it. Her bag was found and later her body was identified. The guy who did it is a 17 year old who lives in the neighborhood. Even though her parents were home, she was old enough to walk to school.


So, we do our best to look after our kids, put careers aside and purpose to raise these little blessings, we even home school to impart the right values and keep out bad influence but who says we can protect them from the world? Who says we can protect them from our selves? We CAN NOT.
We do our best but God does the hard work. Psalm 127 breaks it down.

PSALM 127

Unless the Lord builds the house,
    the builders labor in vain.
Unless the Lord watches over the city,
    the guards stand watch in vain.
² In vain you rise early
    and stay up late,
toiling for food to eat—
    for he grants sleep to those he loves.

³ Children are a heritage from the Lord,
    offspring a reward from him.
⁴ Like arrows in the hands of a warrior
    are children born in one’s youth.
⁵ Blessed is the man
    whose quiver is full of them.
They will not be put to shame
    when they contend with their opponents in court.

THE MESSAGE Version

^1-2 If God doesn’t build the house,
    the builders only build shacks.
If God doesn’t guard the city,
    the night watchman might as well nap.
It’s useless to rise early and go to bed late,
    and work your worried fingers to the bone.
Don’t you know he enjoys
    giving rest to those he loves?

^3-5 Don’t you see that children are God’s best gift?
    the fruit of the womb his generous legacy?
Like a warrior’s fistful of arrows
    are the children of a vigorous youth.
Oh, how blessed are you parents,
    with your quivers full of children!
Your enemies don’t stand a chance against you;
    you’ll sweep them right off your doorstep.

Interesting that the psalmist puts the idea of protection and the blessing of children in the same Psalm?