Our Ugandan Adoption

April’s Fool

2014-04-01T12:02:00.000-07:00

So I have been trying to figure out what is going on with me…what’s going on in my head.

I feel disconnected – happy to be home, upset to not be in Uganda. I wanted to leave Uganda. I wanted to be home. I wanted this whole process to finally be over.

I feel guilty that I am happy, guilty that I am upset. I want to cry, but feel like a traitor to my kiddos and husband. I feel like a traitor to myself – isn’t crying and being upset a lack of faith in God’s will for my life? Shouldn’t I be rejoicing in what God has in store for me? I do recognize that His will is better for me than my own desires, but can I mourn what I lost? Can I mourn what is taking so long, and is so painful to bear?

I feel like I have no direction, as though I am in a holding pattern, or rather, locked in a cage and I am pacing. Except, I am home, with my beautiful children, and I am not caged. Finally, I am in a place where I can do whatever I want, eat and drink anything I want. My bed is immaculate. I can go out the front door and drive my own car wherever I need, and go back in the house and I turn on the AC and the lights and I can take a shower and let it pour all over my face and not worry about what I might get or swallow on contract in the process. My clothes smell amazing and are so soft and I am wearing my own wedding ring again, and I can brush my hair because it is not a nasty unconditioned, swamp water mess (although the sun did bleach it out quite a bit).

So I am thankful. And I am so lost.

I was supposed to be spending all of this time with Benny – teaching him about cars, and animals, and light switches, and grocery stores, and closets and dressers because he has so many outfits that he needs a dresser. And toilets in America flush, and showers can be warm and hot and cold, and the pretty lights hanging in the air tell drivers when to go and stop – there are no military police directing traffic, and if someone bumps your car, we call the cops, and motorcycles are not taxis, and they obey traffic laws also (or are supposed to).

So I sit here and discern God’s Will. What does He want from me? What is expected of me? What is my new normal?!? What the heck am I supposed to be doing? My focus is gone. For the past 3 years, my focus has been on a few set things, and now that I am home, I have none of them. My husband told me to do something that I really enjoy, but I am not sure what that would be. I fold laundry like a champ. I can organize files like a pro. I hate to sweep, and love to clean out the attic….but I did the attic before I left. I folded 6 loads of laundry yesterday and it is not ready to be folded yet today. I could get the car washed and detailed, but it is supposed to rain on Thursday and we have a soccer tournament this weekend, so detailing is pointless. I could plan the kids summer sports camps, but have no idea about Benny so I would hate to put someone throughout normal summer routine of 6 AM swim team, 8 AM Mass, 8-whatever camp, night time summer outdoor soccer schedules.

I look around and see so much that has to be done. I managed to unpack suitcases yesterday and get them put away, but I kept one packed with what I might need for going back to Uganda. It is Lent. I am supposed to be focused on change, and spiritual awakening and reform. My heart should be focused on eternity, not triviality. Everything around me will turn to dust – so I should be focused on my children, on souls, because that is what matters. But I can’t seem to focus on anything.

I wake up every few hours. I feel exhausted. I want to fake smile at the whole world, but people keep hugging me. Grace was the first hug I got at school. I wanted to cry because the hug was so random and so perfect. I was standing outside of the school, feeling like a complete outsider – I had been gone from here for the past 7 weeks, and life goes on without you. I was not excited about my 6^th grader going to camp, I just wanted to go home with all of my children, and hang out, and have fun and pretend that there are no outside obligations and commitments to attend to. But off he went with his friends, and there I was, nobody really knowing what to say to me, so not saying anything, and there was dear sweet Grace – marching straight towards me, with a huge hug, and then she marched back to her car before I could cry. It was perfect.

It was kind of God’s way of saying, “Hey kid, the hurt is there. It is real. Your suffering and waiting is real. You must be in two places at once. I still have more to teach you, and you still have so much more to learn and grow. You MUST trust me, or you will go mad – angry, bitter, disenchanted, joyless.”

Yeah, I hear Him. And I am trying. Focus would be a nice reprieve – a to do list would be a blessing. A nap might help the situation, because getting up at 4 AM after tossing and turning all night leaves me feeling yucky all day long.

To make matter’s worse, I got an email from the US embassy in Uganda that says they finally shipped the file, and it should be in Nairobi by next week. I feel ill. I was so mad when I was reading the email. Their definition of why they send files to Nairobi floored me. I want to call them and scream at them – “What part of my file is suspicious? Is it because the man who found him was a Catholic priest? Because Daughters of Mary took care of him? Because police chiefs and heads of the child protection units were my witnesses? Is it because he is chronically ill or maybe because advertisements ran in local churches and newspapers for weeks every year with his updated pictures asking if this child looks like anyone they know, or if they knew of someone who was pregnant 3 years ago, but who has no child? Is it because even after all of this, and all of the paperwork, and all of the due diligence and police investigating, and everything else, nobody has come forward yet, and so white Americans with 5 kids, who certainly do not need another child, especially one with multiple medical conditions, came forward to accept responsibility for this child? Is that what is suspicious – some crazy, white, scripture quoting, American woman shows up, after spending 3 years and $55,000 fighting her way through red tape and time, and wants to take home the child that she fought to obtain legal guardianship over?!? OMG.

Praise God that I have stopped talking to people right now, because I am not thinking good “Christian” thoughts. My thoughts are that of an angry mother tiger, ready to rip someone’s throat open. I take a deep breath in, and breathe out a fake smile, my head cocked to the side, whispering silent prayers to calm my anxious soul.

I imagine this will have to come on out sooner or later – I have to purge all of this out of me in order to have a clean slate. I was thinking about maybe doing it tomorrow. Tomorrow sounds great – kids at school, husband at work, come home and scream bloody murder for 5 minutes?!? Maybe it will come out as a gut wrenching sob that hurts your soul because you cannot breath or move or talk. I think I need to do this to get it over with. As long as I can pick myself up again, and find focus, then maybe losing my image of control might be worth it. I say 'image' because control is never something attainable, just the thought of it makes us feel good.

Wednesday, the 26th

2014-04-01T11:48:00.000-07:00

So there is nothing left to do. I am just sitting here with Benny on the bed waiting for Fr. Michael to come and get him.

I had wanted to pay Arthur to take care of Benny Michael for me. I wanted him with someone young and vibrant and firm and creative. I wanted him in school with other children. I wanted him with someone I knew, who could access the internet and facebook and post pictures, and message me problems and concerns, and information. I wanted to have some semblance of control and access to information. I even considered asking Linda to foster him, but I know that this is her busy time, and a child would not work well into her schedule - especially because she literally just moved a weekend ago.

Father Michael says that he does not need school, that he needs a grandmother to nurture him. So Father Michael decided that his very own mother should take care of him. I dread not having any idea what is going on with him, about not having a routine, him not learning or having constant stimulation or socialization. I packed a huge suitcase of items – everything that I could think of is in Benny’s suitcase – his toys and books, his favorite picture of Jesus, his snacks, towels, bedding, lotions, soaps, a clothing line, toilet paper, diapers, medicines, nebulizer (although she has no idea how to use it – making it completely useless). It is out of my hands.

When Father arrived, I went over his plans, but what is there to say really? I grabbed all of his items from the now empty room. I loaded down Father's trunk with gifts for people in Masaka and Kitovu. I carefully strapped Benny into the back seat, and handed him his backpack. He hit the seat next to him, for me to sit down, but I just tried to smile at him. I squeezed his tiny little cheeks, kissed his forehead and his cheek and whispered good bye in his ear. “Momma loves you sweet boy.” I asked Father if he needed anything else from me, and I walked inside.

As a side note, Benny has no idea how to kiss. My kids always give kisses. From day one, I would kiss them – their faces, necks, bellies, toes, soles of their feet. Benny has no idea. I have a silver and gold 4x4 metal icon that he would always steal from me – Our Lady of Perpetual Help. I would kiss it at night, and he would put it to his mouth and make a “tsch” noise with his tongue. He had never been kissed really, no idea how to put his lips, where to put them. Me kissing him good night was a completely new idea to him, and he would laugh and laugh and laugh. The same goes for blowing raspberries on his belly. He thought I was nuts the first time I did it. It makes me sad just thinking about it.

Once Father got to his mom’s, he decided that Benny should be in school, and there is a school near by that he will take a car or boda boda to. I gave money to Linda to cover the school for a term, and I will have to wire money for a car. He had better not go on a boda boda – he is 3 years old. I saw too many boda boda accidents to ever be happy about that happening – especially at the mental level that Benny is at now.

I asked Linda to check on him for me. (She reported this weekend when she dropped off the cash for his school term that he was very quiet, not his normal playful self. Once she started using my nicknames for him though, he started laughing, and rolling around on the ground. I am broken. She also reported that there are 2 other children there as well, a younger one, and one that is maybe 8’ish. I pray a prayer of protection over him – that he feels safe and secure, that he knows he is loved, that he knows this is temporary.) Linda will check on him and send me pictures and updates every few weeks, just to help keep me sane.

Even as I do this though, I wonder if it is temporary. What if the US embassy in Nairobi does not see the case, ignores it, refuses to take it, blows it off, disagrees with the Ugandan government? The Ugandan government said, “This child was left to die in the grass. Parents refuse to come forward or be definitively identified as deceased. Nobody wants this child. The police released the care to Fr. Michael after 18 months of searching for parents. Paul and Allison want to adopt him. They are suitable parents. They can afford him, will love him, and provide for him. Therefore Paul and Allison have guardianship over him. They can adopt him upon returning to the US.” So what happens if the US government says that I cannot bring a child that I have guardianship of to the US?

Nobody can answer that question for me. People keep saying it won’t happen. However, on Sunday night, before my paper filing appointment, I wrote out a worst scenario and best scenario. And I was rolling through the day 100% in the best case scenario. And when it suddenly flipped to “horrible”? Well, let’s just say that this possibility was not even on my radar. I had no idea that adjudication was a possibility. I had no idea how to even spell the word to google the meaning.

People asked why I did not stay longer. Fair question, “because my embassy told me to go home, because there is nothing I can do in Uganda to make this go faster, because I could stay for months longer, and it all still be denied, and then I have to break a 6 month bond with a 4 year old instead of a 1.5 month bond with a 3 year old.”

I will be headed back to the States in a little bit. I wanted to shower, and change into clean clothes before sitting on a plane for 24 hours. It can take 2 hours in traffic to even get to the airport from the capital so I will leave the hotel about 6 PM. I will land in Atlanta at 3:30 pm on Thursday and be at the baggage claim by 5’ish or even before if all goes well. I pray that I do not cry the whole way home. I pray that I can disconnect myself from the reality of not bringing him home. I pray that the weight of this does not crush me. I guess we will see.

Accept whatever befalls you. In crushing misfortune, be patient.

-Sirach 2

Tuesday the 25th

2014-03-25T04:23:00.000-07:00

March 25^th

Today was supposed to be my Consecration day.

I imagine that it still is. Normally I consecrate in December. But I decided to do it again to keep me focused on God’s sovereignty, keep my spirit focused on trust and faith and peace this Lent. It is so great to have to have daily readings, written my one of the most knowledgeable saints, to remind you where your weaknesses are, where your spirit should be, and how to lead a life that glorifies Christ.

Last night, I did what needed to be done. I talked to lawyers, I talked to my adoption counselor, I talked to Paul. I prayed. I sat numb. I stared at the ceiling. I watched Benny with his sweet smile, sleeping like an angel. I packed all of his things, and anything that I thought could make his or Jane’s life easier – laundry detergent, shampoos, soaps, school supplies, clothes of mine that would fit her. I budgeted out money from what I have left to get her through a month or two. I packed his breathing machine and rote out instructions for Jane on how to give him breathing treatments when he needs them – children’s Tylenol and advil to keep his fever down so that he does not seize. I put the pictures of the kids that had been on the wall, in the front pocket of his suitcase.

As I started to pack his toys, he started to whimper in his sleep. I stared at the book in my hand – the Dr. Seuss one that Paul bought, “Are you my mother?” I scoffed at the irony. I am your mother here in Uganda, but apparently not in the United States. I packed his drum and his football.

I know better than to get angry. Angry means that I am rebelling against the Will of God. A person who trusts in the Lord is accepting – not without emotion, but not rebelling which is the action based on distrust – the root of anger. I want to hate the embassy woman. But I know all too well who plants that seed.

This is Lent, and the cross that has been given to me is getting heavier and heavier. I know He will sustain me but I have faith in Him, not in myself. How do I go home? What do I do? For almost 3 years, this adoption has been my whole focus – hours of researching, grant writing, paperwork, book reading, mentally preparing for another child, physically preparing for another child, preparing the children, the car, shopping for his needs, worrying about his conditions.

And now I will go home and wait for Lord. My favorite Lenten song plays in the head, “Wait for the Lord, the end is near.” I do not see an end. Tomorrow was supposed to be my end. I was supposed to boarding a plane tomorrow with him and an exit visa. My end was HERE. But really, my end is just beginning.

Paul held a family conference around the table, and told the kids. They were upset, worried for Benny, wondering about the next steps. Matt was mad because I promised not to leave him again for awhile. Now I could be leaving any time after around 2 months. I felt so much pain for them and their worry and confusion. They worried that maybe they prayed too much for me to come home, and now I am but without Benny.

I have considered staying here, but my embassy told me to go home, that it would take a long time, and there is nothing for me to do here but sit and wait. If I stayed and Nairobi said no, then I spent another two months bonding with a child that I leave forever. Right now, at The Terrace we have hit a bonding “wall” because the waiters are young men who have fun playing with him, that let him goof off, wander around the kitchen and do stuff that would never happen in the US. Which is more damaging? Coming and going and coming back, or him bonding with the wrong people, or me staying with him, going to the village and bonding more and then abandoning him when Nairobi says no?

And to make matters worse, I spend almost $100US dollars every day that I am here, more when Paul was here, and it has been 6 weeks. I make up the cost of the flight home in 18 days. So then I can start focusing on saving that money for this new lawyer we will have to pay who deals with Nairobi cases. Apparently she is skilled and she can guide us and the paperwork through.

Nobody has the answers, nobody can decide for me or tell me the road with the least guilt, damage, pain, peril or cost. I accept that as well. How heavy would a cross be if you could see the road that you were on, the twists and turns and wicked hard speed bumps? Had God told me, when He said that I would be leaving the week of the 25^th that I would leave without Michael, would I have gone at all? No, because I lacked trust and faith. So He showed me what He knew I needed, and led me on my way.

Now I begin another day, completely blind, and forced by faith to trust that when Nairobi tells me their decisions or gives me a list of demands, that I can fulfill them, that I will have the right resources in place to fly back, that I will be able to handle whatever comes. And the fact of the matter is, I will not be able to handle tomorrow, but God will handle it for me.

Tomorrow, Father Michael will come with Jane in the Land Cruiser to get Michael and all of his stuff and the gifts for the other people that are dear to my heart. I will kiss this sweet angel, and put him back into the hands, from which he came to me, and I will put all of my trust in the Lord because my new reality requires nothing but that.

My new reality……when the IOM doctor told me that children here who have asthma die in the village, he was preparing me for a reality. And when the old man sitting next to me yesterday told me that his son got malaria and had a high fever, and had a seizure, and it “cooked his brain” and he is now 48 and barely there, he was preparing me for a reality. And when I stumbled across the blog of a mom who has been waiting for 9 months in the US for her child’s visa, she was preparing me for a reality.

This reality is something that Michael must have realized too, on some level. He whined all night long, wanted me to hold him, fussed every time I moved, whined when I put him down. He was the same way this morning until I bribed him with waffles and syrup. He threw his fruit bowl across the table, crawled into my lap and did a fake whine cry thing. He sat on the bed holding his bear saying, “Mom mom mom mom,” almost like a song. Kids sense their parents emotions and stresses, and although my stress level is very low, my heart ache is not, my guilt is not. He normally takes his nap on the bed, and he demands that my hand and arm rest on his stomach. I normally pray the Divine Mercy Chaplet, and he holds the cross on the beads while my fingers slide the beads around. He has broken 3 rosaries this way, so I have resorted to the Byzantine Jesus beads that I bought from my dad’s church in Sacramento – apparently unbreakable. Today he fussed the whole way through the DMC but was asleep halfway through the rosary – tired of fighting the weariness that rests in the air around us. My resignation to this new reality is complete.

He spent the afternoon, with the rain outside, sitting on the bed next to me watching Tarzan, his feet on my leg, his arm wrapped around me. He keeps grabbing my hand, trying to hold it while I type. Every few minutes he whines, and grabs my arm back. I could sit like this forever, just the way that I sit on the couch with Anna and Matt – baby loving is awesome. I had never paid attention to Tarzan, but out of my daze I heard Phil Collins singing away, the refrain, “No matter what may come…. this day…forever, You’ll be in my heart, now and forever….” I choked. Prophetic. He has been watching this all week, and I just realized that it was probably God preparing me for leaving, giving me a song to hum on the plane, sweet words to whisper in his ear when I say good bye to him. Nothing is an accident, nothing is devoid of meaning. I watch for signs, looks for symbols, the Holy Spirit is alive everywhere.

Our room now consists of a pile of clothes, a garbage can, and 4 packed suitcases. It feels more like a morgue, or like sitting on death row-waiting for my sentence to be carried out.

I try not to imagine being dropped off at the airport – an experience that I have prayed for over the past few weeks. I imagined us waving to Linda, holding hands, marching to the ticket counter, itineraries in hand, Benny with his brand new Thomas train backpack on. The backpack that I filled with crayons, color book, cars, dinosaurs, all new toys to play with was for our 24 hour trek home. Now it will serve as entertainment for him during the long weeks ahead.

Meanwhile, the last few weeks at home have been getting harder and easier at the same time. The child that I figured would be the most upset and the most affected, Kolbe, because of his sweet sensitive soul, brought home two really bad grades last week – in spelling and vocab, which is completely unfounded. I can hear it is in his voice when he talks to me – he is sad and frustrated. He is the one that writes letters to God and he addresses them and puts a stamp on the envelopes and drops them in the mailbox. He is still a snuggy bear. I try to encourage him, but he gets mad when I call and it is so late my time – “Mom, maybe you should not call us, I want to talk to you, but I worry about you not sleeping,” even though I did not say a word about it.

The rest of my kids talk less and less. “I am tired of you always telling me to pray mommy, I pray so much and you are still not coming home,” says Anna. “Mom, I pray a chaplet every day, I am not sure that I can pray any more than that. Surely God has made up His mind about what He wants to have happen,” says Gabe. I try to be an example of strength, but I always fail. They sense my weakness, even without my crying or whining or complaining. No matter how much I reassure them, they are getting tired of me being gone.

Every time I stop focusing on God, I can hear the little voices in the background. “This will never work. You will never leave, your children do not miss you, the planes will be booked, you will be separated and have to bribe people to relinquish seats, your husband hates you for leaving him with all of these children, something will happen and you will be delayed after you get your plane tickets…” I try to put on this strong face, smile at all the people who stay for a day or two here at the Terrace but I am jealous when they get to leave. The little voices provide a constant chant of everything that could go wrong, the voices threaten to throw me into despair. And even at the worst of times, I never imagined leaving without him. But leave I will...tomorrow. I will will sing in his ear, and kiss his head, and make promises to be back. Only the Lord knows what is in store, and it is my job to thank Him, and sing His praises, and glorify Him in the joys and in the sorrows. Sing I will.

mother's heartache

2014-03-24T10:54:00.002-07:00

So my Monday started so great - I got word that Henderson beat Rua in the UFC fight! Somehow an American demolishing a Brazilian in Brazil made me happy.

I woke up all of the way, and woke Benny up for the Embassy appointment. My driver was right on time, and he got us to the Embassy almost an hour early. I got through security, got up the hill, waited diligently and prayed and prayed and prayed. All through my filing appointment, the woman was so kind. She liked my paperwork, was complimentary of my organization, appreciated how I filled out everything correctly and was such a dear. She ended the meeting by saying that woman who does the interviews had a dental appointment, but might be able to squeeze me in. She said she would call me later, and I told her that I would be praying for good news. She was so sure of my paperwork, she even had me pay the Embassy for the visa.

I went home and laid Benny down for a quick nap - and I joined soon behind him, falling asleep with a rosary in my hand, and an icon of Our Lady of Perpetual Help on my heart. I woke up about half an hour later, to my phone ringing. A sweet sweet voice on the other end said, "Allison, your prayers have been answered, your appointment is at 2:30." I cried I was so happy - tears of pure joy. I will be coming home on Wednesday.

It never crossed my mind that something could go horribly wrong. I mean, last night, I blogged about the two options in my mind, an interview appointment on this Wednesday, or an interview appointment net Wednesday. My worry was never about the case or the file. The judge had remarked how clean it was, cut and dry. My whole process has been long, but easy. My records were remarkable, the story is water tight, the paperwork filled out perfectly.

So I get to my 2:30 appointment about half an hour early, but it takes awhile to be seen. When I go in, the woman introduces herself as the vice consulate. She immediately starts grilling me on questions about dates.

When was he abandon?
The police officer guessed and said that he looked around 4 months of age because the size of his head.
So why was his birth certificate given a date 1 month before he was reported and not 4?
I am not sure, something to do with how small he was and the fact that he was not growing.
So who said that Father was the guardian?
The police and the child office told the judge that their offices are over run, they have no resources, so they told Father to care for the child while they look for his family. Meanwhile Michael was sick, needed to be bottle fed, needed medical care, so Father went to the Sisters that run the hospital and asked them to care for him, and help him with his may medical issues. He has asthma, seizures, has had malaria 4 times, the last time he was in a coma. He was small, sickly looking, frail thin legs, a very over-sized cranium.
So really, Father abandon him with some nuns, and the nuns should have been granted a guardianship order?
Father did what he felt was right. And he wanted the child with him, but he is a priest, not a doctor.
Yes, but Father was told to care for him, and he did not. The hospital cared for him.
Yes, but Father paid the hospital what he could, and got him out of the hospital when he was healthy.
So why did Father wait to so long to seek an official guardianship order?
He had no idea that he needed an official order. He had a letter from the police saying to care for him. Any person with no experience in the adoption field would not know to do otherwise. I am a sure part of it was because the police were actively looking for family and hoping family would come forth. Part of it had to do with ow sickly and small and under developed he was, and that he kept getting sick, over and over. It was not until he started the adoption process for Michael that he found out that a police letter was not good enough.
Why did he decide to put Michael up for adoption?
He started considering the process when he realized that Michael had many serious health concerns, ones that he could not address as a priest. Michael will need some very serious speech therapy, he will need eegs and ekgs to check his seizures and check the heart to make sure that what appears to be a breathing issue is not a heart issue, make sure his speech issue is not more of a hearing issue even though he seems to hear ok. Asthma attacks can kill a child in the village. He is a priest, and cannot be a father or meet the physical needs he has. He is moved all over the place and knew that Michael deserves a family, a mom and dad who will love him and take of care him.
OK. My problem is this. Michael Ssenfuma did not have authority to place him in a hospital. He did not immediately get a court order (which most orphanages don't even get until Americans pay for one because they are expensive and time consuming). I did not like the police letter, because it was a stamped and sealed letter, not an actual court document (even though the courts accepted it as a valid appointment of guardianship). These are my red flags, and there are too many for me to accept your case. I am sending it to Nairobi.
Is there anything I can do, bring in, people you could talk to, the police or child office in Masaka?
Everything I wanted should have been in the file, but it was not. You will not be receiving an additional appointment at the embassy until much later, so you will have no chance to drop anything off to me. The only thing that you can do is leave.
What do you mean, when do I come back?
The file will be sent in almost two weeks to Nairobi. It takes a week to get there. Then they review it. It could take 30 days to review. Then they say, "Yes, no or maybe." If there is a maybe, you would fly from the US to Nairobi to meet with them and answer their questions and give whatever evidence they ask for. Then they will say yes or no. The process is a minimum of 2 months.
And then I come back here?
You go home, and you do not speak to us until the Embassy in Nairobi forwards us your file with their decision.
(Totally in shock) So what do I do now?
She gives me this look like I am a total moron, rolls her eyes and says, "You leave my office and go home and wait."
What am I supposed to do with my child?
Well, my job is to approve your file if I believe that you are his parent, and you received guardianship legally without question. I do not believe that Michael Ssenfuma did what he was supposed to do 3 years ago to even have the authority to seek medical treatment, and it took two years ago to receive guardianship legally, which means in the US, we would question the validity of your legal guardianship. He might have eventually received guardianship and the judge in Uganda might have accept that, but I question it. So yes you are his mother, but you cannot bring him home until the heads in Nairobi say so. So you do whatever necessary.

I took Michael's handed and led him out of the building and to the van in quite a daze. I call the Ugandan lawyer who says he will send a letter to go with the file. The problem is that some US citizen who has never been through the process or lived in a village, or seen the way that Ugandan paperwork is done is making decisions for American processes based on US standards. This is a huge problem.

I called Father to explain. We both were upset that this was my own government ruining this for me. There are cheaper easier ways to get a child in the United States. Kids disappear all of the time. Had I wanted a child and was desperate and a psycho, I could have gotten one. But it is when you try and be good, and responsible and moral, that you get put through the ringer by your own government. Father says that the battle belongs to God and that no weapon formed against us shall prosper. Amen.

I called the lawyer, who said that it could take several months. I looked up online, and read cases that were between 2 and 8 months.

I called my agency back home and they began calling lawyers who deal with Nairobi to ask for pointers and time expectations, and more.

It wasn't until I talked to Paul, that reality struck. I will be leaving my child in Uganda, and I will go home with a broken heart and empty hands, and I will wait. What will I tell my children - that Uganda gave us a child, and their very own government is screwing us over because some bureaucratic red tape signed off on by a woman that knows nothing about the Ugandan process/procedure/and more?

I called my mom who sobbed along with me.

The funny thing is that I have been correct for 6 months. 6 months ago, I had told my adoption counselor in Birmingham that I would leave the week of March 25th, the week of my consecration. She laughed. I told her again about a month before I left. I told her that God told me that I would leave Uganda the week of the 25th. "Well, I hope you are prepared for not leaving the week of the 25th." I laughed. I was confident. I just knew she was wrong.

I never knew though, that it being Lent, and the week of me devoting my whole being yet again to Our Lady, casting myself at her feet, meant that I would suffer and that I would in fact leave - but without my child. I would leave as a mom who abandon her child, for God knows how long. I know that Blessed Mother does not wish me to suffer this pain, but that she is using this suffering to do great things.

I will spend the next day or two somehow preparing Benny for my absence. I will need to find a caregiver for him, train them on how to use his nebulizer, explain his ring worm creams, buy enough clothes and diapers to last him a good while. I will wire money over to pay her for his care, and food, and supplies and for her transportation and more. This poor little man has been through so much, and now at my hand he will be caused more pain and confusion and sadness.

I accept God's will. I thank him for the suffering and the cross. I put all of this into the hands of my beautiful Mother, and I have complete faith and confidence that she will guide my heart, and protect Benny and guide my family and until this situation is redeemed, I will try and shine with the Light of Christ. I will bow humbly at His feet and beg for mercy for my family and the poor impressionable soul. I will beg that Benny does not fall further behind, that his soul and his health and his development are not broken even more by these problems. I have faith that God is in control, and that He will provide the protection over Benny and the strength I need to go home and care for my other children.

That will not keep me from sobbing, and my heart from breaking, and my mind from spinning. I wish I had someone here, to talk me through it, comfort me, guide me in all of my irrationality. But I don't, another gift from my loving Father - the lesson of mortification and independence - on Him alone I shall depend.

Sunday

2014-03-23T05:12:00.001-07:00

Sunday, the 23rd

I started my morning off wrong, kind of. I went into the kitchen to put a bottle away (they recycle all of the coke bottles and the bottling company literally just reuses the same bottle. I have had ones with dates from 2001 to 2013 already this trip.) And upon entering the kitchen, I was shocked by the bugs, the smell of old frying oil, and the multiple bottles of mayonnaise, and various other spreads, open, and obviously old, just sitting on the counter. I did a mental check of what I have been eating. They warned me to eat only things that were boiled, fried or very very, very, steamed. Don’t eat it if it was fresh and not peel-able (so no lettuce, cabbage, broccoli, cauliflower, etc). They wash it in the same water that is in the tanks. Ack.

I lost my appetite for the day, maybe the rest of my time here. I studied over the menu in my head – I am left with spring rolls and french fries maybe – nothing with cheese or creams or spreads. I know that the refrigeration here is poor. When the power goes out, it is out – for 10 minutes to 20 hours+ hours to days even, but it always shocks me when I see people eating meats and things without question. I was most disgusted about the mayo, I hate mayo anyway, but maybe they make it without eggs here? And I have seen eggs, sitting out for hours and hours and hours here, and people do not seem to die…right?

I sit on my bed and spin my fake wedding ring around on my finger. I was told ‘no expensive jewelry’, and most married Ugandans do not even wear a simple band. So I shopped around on Amazon.com and found a silver band with woven Celtic designs. I then found a silver band that had the phrase, “I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine” on the inside. For $20, I bought both, and settled on the plain one when they arrived.

I am not sure why I chose the one with the saying in it – I had kind of thought it enduring. I had imagined Paul saying those words to me. The inside of his textured gold band when we got married said “I heart you.” Which is what we always had said to each other. I am not sure the last time I used that phrase, but it seemed fun and playful in college and it stuck for awhile. I had considered that I would need a little inspiration while I was in Uganda, and that maybe when I was all alone, I would sit and stare at the ring, and know, by its very presence that I was not alone. This was obviously a fallacy on my part. Now I sit and think that this ring would be perfect for a woman who took her vows and wanted a ring that serves as a reminder that she is married the Christ forever.

Paul’s wedding band with his saying has come and gone, and then made an appearance again, but I am not sure where it is now. Anna and Matt went through a phase of taking Paul’s wedding rings off of the bathroom counter when he was in the shower. I would just buy him another one, different kinds of silver, white gold, tungsten, whatever. And sure enough, they would disappear after a week or so. At one point, I had re-found 3 of them in different rooms of the house. And soon as the rings disappearing started, it stopped again. He keeps the spare rings in the center drawer in our bathroom, just in case one disappears again. Maybe I will put this band in that drawer when I get home.

I had woken up to a splitting headache and the room was spinning on a tilt. I imagine now, that if I am over my virus, then it must have something to do with my 4 bulging disks in my very lower back, and the 4” thick mattress that is probably 15 years old. You can feel every wood slat beneath it, so you try to position the tip of your hip bone accordingly in the gaps when you are on your side. And if you are on your back, you wedge your shoulder blades in between slats to remove as many pressure points as possible. I have it down to a science, but when I am really tired, I am all over the place, and then I wake up a bit and shift until the pressure points are gone.

The same thing goes when I am typing. Or really any time we are in the room. There is a tiny desk, no wider than my laptop and it is not sturdy, not made for real work to be done at it – it holds an alarm clock and a water bottle and that is about it. The only place to fold laundry, sit, work, read, play, whatever, is on the bed. I start writing the blog sitting up, with my back pressed against the back board, and then flat on my back with the lap top on my knees, and then on my side propped on my elbow, and then on my stomach while doing my back stretches. The bed is very short, and only comes up to halfway between my knee and ankle, which really creeps me out at night with a rat that comes in and out whenever it wants, and mosquitoes and everything else, but during the day when you do not want to take your shoes off, it is perfect. See, there is a plus side to everything.

As an added bonus, to let the breeze in through during the day, I will leave the door open. If the breeze blows too hard, it opens the door all of the way, and then it bounces off of my feet and shuts again. The room might be fine without the doors open for breeze, because there is a 4 inch gap at the bottom, and there are openings in between the slats on the door itself – you can literally see strips of light, right through the door. But I do like a nice breeze to blow in once in awhile – it clears my mind.

I think about going home and wonder how my back will survive carrying a 3 year old all around the airport, but I know that God provides. I dream about going to my PT but I would hate to see that disappointed look on his face when he sees how my back is. He tried to warn me to do my stretches and stuff, but the sleeping was a big thing for and obviously the situation is not ideal. I dream of being in traction and having my spinal column stretched. There are few things that make me as excited as that. Maybe while Benny is at Baptist’s speech therapy center, I can sneak over and get stretched and have an ultrasound treatment and that deep tissue shock thing!?!? OMG. Whoever came up with that was a genius. I beg him to turn it up the electricity as high as possible knowing how great it will feel when it is done. My PT is the absolute best. How weird are you when you start dreaming of where you get to go when you get home?!?

Last week when I was trying to wash my hair, I imagined my hair dresser’s face when she saw how messed up my hair was. Rachel at Garbo’s is the best, I have followed her for 4 years, and she does the best Brazilian Keratin treatments. Before I left, she told me of some new one that is getting certified in, and I can’t wait to go home and have straight hair again. Between swamp water and the heat and sweat – my hair has been a fro of waves for weeks and it smells. I use ‘It’s a 10’ which helps with the smell a little, but the shampoo is yucky that I bought here, but it was the cheapest one, and was almost $15 for a tiny bottle, so I am stuck using it.

My hair sticks out everywhere, like a loose spiral perm. I try to keep it in braids, especially at night to keep it from getting really tangled, but it does not help much. Ugandans response to my hair is amusing. They ask to touch it, they pulls the braids, play with the bristly ends of the braid, grab handfuls of my hair when it is not in braids. Benny likes it when I flip it over my face, or toss it over my head, sometimes he tries to hide in it. They comment on how it matches my eyebrows and the hair on my arms. They tell me that I could weave it and use it as fishing line.

So Sunday started slow as I sat and pondered all of these things while Benny played cars on the floor. Benny did not pull any crazy bathroom stunts, but he did pour his water bottle all over his chair when I would not let him get out of his seat, and he refused to each his breakfast. I brought him back to the room and put him in the corner with his bowl of breakfast and a water bottle and told him that we would play soccer when he was done eating. He has demolished the water bottle and crumbled and smashed his food to pieces, but there he sits, happy as a clam.

The rest of the day was more of the same….me praying to go home, Benny praying that I let him out of the room. I really do not want to let him play outside because of all of the rain last night, and the mud in the grass, but I have little choice – even I would rather go insane outside rather than in. I am nervous about tomorrow and I know that God’s Will will be done, and I am trying to not think about it, but it is crazy to maintain focus and balance and keep the emotions of a very fallen creature aligned to the acceptance of God’s Will.

Notes from my prayer journal: I pray that I do not lose hope tomorrow. I pray that I can be focused on trusting in His Will, and align my emotions to that accordingly.

“Blessed are those who have learned to acclaim you,

who walk in the light of your presence,

O Lord.”

-Psalm 89:15

Soundtrack song of the day – No Ones Gonna Love You – Band of Horses

Consecration to Jesus through the Immaculate Heart of Mary, Blessed Pope John Paul II, Day 32

The Novena to the Divine Mercy, Day 6

Saturday, the 22nd

2014-03-23T05:03:00.000-07:00

I started my morning by wondering if they make 2-day sleeping pills that I could give Benny and I to get us through the weekends…I debated in my mind the efficacy of such an invention, knowing that I would want to use the same invention with Benny whenever it was time to fly home – 9 hours to Amsterdam, 3 hours waiting, 9 hours to Atlanta, 1.5 hours in customs, 3 hours home. Moms all over the world would sing my praises when traveling long distances.

I got Benny changed, and sent him into the bathroom – and at some point in the middle of the process, he decided to get off of the toilet, use the floor, and then get back on to finish his business. I spent the next 2 hours sanitizing the bathroom. For the love of God, I wish I was home, where I could show him how a real toilet work. Of course, if he pulled a stunt like that at home, I would not have the luxury of a huge drain in the corner of the bathroom to wash everything towards, but somehow the idea of doing this at home was somewhat comforting – at least Paul would be there to laugh at me, and the kids would make mad faces at Benny and tell him how to do it correctly. Of course I had to take a shower after that, wearing my shoes because the Good Lord knows what might be on me or the floor. I promptly cover myself in hand sanitizer, and get re-dressed for the day.

It takes about two hours to access blogspot, and upload 1 blog without pictures. I was determined to sit and get Thursday and Friday up, so Benny and I sat in the living room area and got to work. However, Benny was not so pleased with my decision to be inside, but the closer you are to the wireless router, the fast and better your connection was. He started to creep towards the door, and when one of the workers, Harriett, went outside, he made his escape. I ran to put my tablet away in his absence, and then went outside to get him. He heard me and turned around and turned to Harriett and started crying and put his hands up, like maybe she would rescue him. She completely ignored him, thank God. But this is the problem with living in one place for too long that is not permanent, where people let him get away with whatever he wants.

All of this just makes me upset and frustrated. I dream about what he will be like at home, with boundaries, and no interference from well meaning Ugandans ruining my parenting efforts. The bonding books say to keep him close, be his only source of food, blah blah blah. But when you have three places that you are confined to – the bedroom, the dining room, and the backyard, you are kind of stuck to the people in those places. Obviously, in our bedroom, that is fine – but these are tiny quarters not suitable for a 3 year old. The other 2 harbor threats to the bonding process, and he is very used to people coming in going out of his life and making do with whatever constants remain longer than the others.

I have really had to start cracking down on their interfering. For instance, if we are eating dinner, and he does not want to eat something, he gets down and tries to wander around r he whines and falls to the floor and starts rolling around laughing, and everyone else laughs at him, which just encourages him. I tell him to sit, and he whines, and the waiters talk to him. I put him in his seat, and they come over and goof off with him, and when they walk away, he tries to follow. I feel like I am constantly saying, “Do this, do that, yes, no, eat, sit,” and that everyone else is like “play, goof off, you are so cute, so funny, ha haha.” Maybe they should be the ones cleaning up his mess all over the bathroom floor almost every single day for the past week. Maybe if I showed them pictures of his mess, he would be less cute and playful.

To make matters worse, we are sure that he has giardia. We spent all of that time and money getting him dewormed, but first chance he gets, he is drinking the shower water. Hello?!? The shower water is from a huge black tank in the back yard, from rain that came off of the roof. You CANNOT drink it. PERIOD. Shower water smells, sink water smells, my hair smells. I am bathing in glorified swamp water. Since one of his long showers about two weeks ago, he has had diarrhea every day at least once. He won’t eat stuff he used to. You couple his intestines, with his desire to only eat pineapple and watermelon and mango and you can see why his stomach is so messed up.

You can give someone antibiotics for giardia but it only shortens the lifespan of the parasites. You cannot spread giardia if you are washing your hands after changing him. You will not catch it either. So truly, there is no point in giving him anything now, if he will continue to drink water when he is in the shower. And I have yelled at him for it, but what am I supposed to do, spank him? As soon as I leave and wait outside the door so that I do not get soaked, he will do it anyway. Even when I get out of the shower, I still cover myself in hand sanitizer. I wash my face with face wipes, I brush my teeth with a bottle of water, I use Clorox wipes on the sinks and toilet every time he is done.

I did get a chance to talk to my sister Sarah and both of my parents today which was nice – and I talked to all of the kids as well. It is really hard to make this happen – conversations with the kids are hard to manage. If I want to call them at 6 AM, I fight get three of four minutes per kid, and I set my alarm on my tablet to tell me when it is 2 PM, because I am liable to miss it. If I want to talk to them at the end of their day, when they are home after baseball and streaks, then I have to stay up until 3 or 4 AM – which is not hard when I am having nightmares, but normally around 4, I have an easier time falling asleep. I have found that Saturdays at 5 PM my time, when it is 9 AM their time, is a decent time to call them….unless they have soccer, which is every weekend except the weekends that start and stop Spring Break. Yay me.

I fell asleep easily, in the middle of a rosary, but woke up 3 different times for torrential downpours and thunder that rolled for minutes at a time with no break. I got up and moved my suitcases out from under the window. Our windows have iron bars, but no screens, and the glass window parts are all open and swung out. You have to be outside to shut the windows or have a big long stick to pull them shut with. The way that the wind was blowing, I was afraid of water being blown in and soaking the bags. For the rest of the night, I did what I normally do - lay there and read emails, or check facebook and see if my husband is online or watch faithit.com videos or pray, or read my consecration books. I order more digital books from Sophia Press so I have reading material for the next few weeks that I might be in country.

I cannot even begin to explain how upset I will be in the Embassy says that I will not get a Wednesday appointment. I would probably start sobbing, right then and there. I would lose it, I know I will. It will crush me, no matter how much faith I have that this is God’s will, my faith and acceptance cannot suddenly make me happy that I am here by myself. Just saying.

Notes from my prayer journal: I am being tempted to distraction from things back home. I am being tempted to hate the people that are causing these disruptions back home. Every second I spend caring or being angry are seconds that I am taking away from Benny, and bonding and focusing on why God sent me here. I keep begging God to focus my heart and mind, when every part of me wants to call down the thunder to put an end to false accusations. But He always said that persecutions will come, and we will suffer, and that we should not bother with fighting or defending, to pay the price they request and be done with them. I am not ready to do that, I want to defend myself. But what can I do? I am in Africa, with little internet connection. I can get facebook on a large glorified phone in my room, but have no keyboard, cannot sign in to important accounts because there is no firewall protection here, and more. What is done is done, but it breaks my Will, which is exactly what God requires of His people to be true followers of Christ. I am learning. Baby Steps.

“Those who know your name will trust in you, for you Lord, have never forsaken those who seek you.”

-Psalm 9:10

Soundtrack song of the day – Broken Bells – the High Road

Consecration to Jesus through the Immaculate Heart of Mary, Blessed Mother Teresa, Day 31

The Novena to the Divine Mercy, Day 5

Friday

2014-03-22T12:24:00.003-07:00

Friday the 21st

I keep thinking, maybe I can leave next Friday, maybe I can leave next Friday. In fact, I was so anxious about not hearing from the Embassy on Wednesday that I must have prayed to keep me focused, for hours. When the Thursday hours started to tick by, I thought for sure that we would have to deal with Benny’s kind-of-positive TB test before we got out appointment. At 4 PM, I gave up, and right when I went to email Paul and get upset, there was an email from the Embassy with a Monday morning appointment. I had told the embassy people before that I almost cry every time I see an email from them, and this time was no different – Monday at 9 AM. Woot-woot. One step closer.

Being one step closer, made my Friday quite a bit better. I have been looking forward to Friday all week. Linda had promised me that we would go to the market so that I can get gifts for the people back home, and for people that have supported us along the way. I was trying to find things that really link Africa to people in Alabama. I also really wanted to find a well-priced drum for Benny Michael, because he drums on everything – tables, chairs, garbage cans, and more. So this trip was going to be important, and I had it all planned out on paper – 15 Auburn colored necklaces, a drum, a basket, a nativity, headbands, purses, soccer jerseys.

However once we got to the Friday Market, I was so overwhelmed. There were sooo many people selling, in a tiny crowded area, with tarps were spread out all over the rocky uneven ground. And they had a pre-cut path around everything, made from salvaged broken brick, probably from a nearby building, so you had to be really careful where you stepped. Twice I stepped wrong and a piece of brick jabbed through the side of my sandals and caught the side of my foot – not fun.

I had been doing a pretty good job keeping track of what was for whom, and trying to write it all down, when suddenly I came across a wood carver that had the greatest statues of St. Joseph, St. Francis, crucifixes, Our Lady of Africa, Our Lady of the Rosary, and a ton of wooden nativity sets. They were primitive, stained a deep dark mahogany color, and were really precious, oh, I wanted them all. In fact, as soon as I was back at the Terrace I started kicking myself for not getting more. I should have bought more beads and more statues, and if I am not doing anything again this Friday, I will go back and buy more. (Let me know if you want me to get something in particular for you.)

I think I made it out of there pretty well, but when I got back to the hotel, I could not find my list, or remember what I was thinking when I started laying everything out on the bed. I got so frustrated with the whole process that I gave up and packed it all up in the empty suitcase. I pray that nothing gets broken….maybe if I bought a few more dozen things, it would fill the suitcase better?!?

I try so hard not to hate Fridays, but it is impossible. I know what the weekend entails, absolutely nothing, and I hate this. If something is not productive – either in leisure, fun, accomplishing something, finishing something, learning something, I consider it a waste. Our Lord would say to sit in the silence, is the only time I can find Him, but then I am still accomplishing something. However, nothing gets accomplished here on the weekend. Linda’s drivers take advantage of me because I am Catholic and have a baby. The only places to go are the mall or to a food place, and I did not come with excess money to spend – just enough to get me through and besides, taking Benny out in public is a type of torture right now. He wants to run around, and play in the fountains, and he gets overwhelmed, and a little stressed, so when it is time to go or do something he does not want to do, like holding hands in a VERY busy parking lot or to cross 5 lanes of traffic, he starts screaming. This, in turn, sets off a whole new set of problems.

I tried to get a feel from Linda about what she thought about the Embassy. Is it pretty guaranteed that I get an exit interview for Wednesday? (nope, nothing is ever guaranteed with the US Embassy in Kampala) How long are the waits for exit interviews? (2 days to 2 weeks) Is it possible that they might do the exit interview on an “untypical” day? (if they do not have any interviews, they have been known to bump people up, but that is not typical) I decided that I would not think about it, that I would just keep focused on preparing for Monday. I will walk in nice and calm, even though we will have to be up very early and Benny might pitch a fit. I will smile, and be respectful and sweet. I will not presume anything, I will be focused and cautious, and ask pertinent questions, as needed.

I hate talking to Paul on Fridays. I call him and he goes through a schedule of everything they are doing, and I get so jealous. “Wait what, you get to go to soccer games? Anna scored a goal, she went to her first big girl birthday party, you had Father Daughter, there is no soccer and you get to work on family chores and projects? The boys are hanging out? You are going to Costco? You will be in air conditioning and drink safe water and eat pizza and watch tv and hang out with your awesome kids and play with the dog and and and and???” My eyes go from blue, to a jealous green, and then when I hang up to a blood shot red, because even though I do not want to cry, I cannot stop the tears. I just let them fall and I sigh, and accept that my lot is to be here right now, and that I will be home soon enough – even though it does not make it easier, it just invites a sense of resignation.

Every day I wonder what God wants to me accomplish in order to leave. Maybe he wanted 200 Divine Mercy Chaplets from me. Maybe He wanted my effort. Maybe he wants my sacrifices to cure/heal/save someone. Maybe He wants me to learn patience. Maybe He wanted me to say something in particular in my blog, and then He will let me go home. We all have a mission, something to accomplish, something great that only you are destined to do. So what do I need to do in order to be home? I spot check myself throughout the day. Am I relying on Him enough, being patient enough, being kind and friendly enough? Am I focused on His presence inside of me and others enough? I cannot pretend to know what God has in store for me each day, I can only pray that my will is open to His plan, and that I accept His plan when it is not what I envisioned. He did not promise happiness, EVER. He promised only peace.

Notes from my prayer journal: I need to learn to equate peace with happiness. If I accept His will, and trust in it, then I will have peace. That does not mean that everything is roses and butterflies and that I will like it, and that I will be comfortable and physically satisfied. It means that if I am dying from starvation or cancer or heart disease, and there is nothing left to do to fight against the prognosis, then I accept that there will be a miracle and I will be a testament to his great glory, and if there is no miracle, then I accept that God is using me to suffer and save souls and set an example on how to be full of race and humanity while being totally reliant on Him.

“Surely God is my salvation; I will trust and not be afraid. The Lord the Lord is my strength and my song; he has become my salvation.”

-Isaiah 12:2-3

Soundtrack song of the day – Time is Running Out, Muse

Consecration to Jesus through the Immaculate Heart of Mary, St. Maximilian Kolbe, Day 30

The Novena to the Divine Mercy, Day 4

The Feast of St. Joseph

2014-03-22T00:58:00.004-07:00

March 19th (For some reason this is showing up after Thursday, even though I posted it first)

I have always felt sorry for St. Joseph, having a solemnity right after St. Patrick's Day. It is so much more fun for the average person to have an excuse to get drunk and over eat for something fun like being or not being Irish. However, celebrating being a devoted father and husband is a little more difficult. Can't really get drunk to celebrate being the most holy of fathers can you? You cannot go around wearing green and pinching people in the name of the most devoted husband that ever walked the Earth right?

So poor St. Joseph kind of gets ignored by the world, except for the devoted Italians, who have adopted this feast day as their own - who eat and drink and pray mightily in the name of the man who loved the two most perfect souls to ever come into creation. In my family, we celebrate St. Patrick, and both of St. Joseph's 2 solemnities, although I will admit that I do have a hard time making two huge, and vastly different meals, so close together. This year, in preparing for my absence, I made a gigantic lasagna and baked ziti and meatballs, and put them in the freezer with a beautiful tiramisu, so that my children may honor and celebrate St. Joseph, Spouse of the Blessed Virgin Mary, in fine fashion.

I also wanted Kolbe Joseph to celebrate one of his 3 feast days. Lucky duck that one, a feast day for St. Maximilian Kolbe and 2 for St. Joseph. Paul and I picked saints and angels names for each of my children, pairing up saints feast days to supposed due dates to family members' names that we would like to honor or keep. I would sit and read saints books for hours in bed while I was pregnant, hoping to find inspiration for my future children. I did read a baby naming book one time, but the names never instilled the meaning and value and history in my soul like a saint's name could. In fact, I had a whole list of saints names that we would use...and the only two that we did not were Luke Anthony and Mary Claire - Matthew was a hair away from being Anthony, had it not been for a prolapsed cord and an emergency c-section, I might have not been knocked out so long that my husband had the chance to name him. (He truly is a Matthew Timothy though, so I cannot complain).

As close as St. Joseph has always been to my heart though, I will admit that I always prayed to him rather selfishly, everything from home sales, to guiding my sweet Kolbe's heart and passion, to guidance over household issues and familial protection. And although I always saw him as the prefect husband, and protector of families, I have never begged his intercession on behalf of my husband though. To make matters worse, I cannot even be entirely sure why not. This notion of praying for your spouse first, before all else is also new to me.

Normally when I pray, I start with the immediate concerns of the family, then special intentions that I had promised, and then from there, my sweet children and their many necessities, our extended family and then for myself and my husband, almost as a last thought though - "God if you have spare mercy and blessing, after you have reached your hand down upon these other needs, can you please throw a bit of grace upon my husband and I?" How many prayers I have wasted on the wrong things!

What I have really been shown, during these last 5 weeks, is that I had the order and necessity all backwards. One phrase I learned when I moved to the South was, "Happy wife, happy life." I had never heard this phrase before, but it seemed odd to me. Women were designed and created to love - their entire being was formed to give and support and sacrifice for life, and to do that is the essence of what "loving" means. So why should the happy life of a man depend on the emotions of his wife? What I want to say is that women should feel honored to be of service to their husbands and their children. What I want to say is that when women love and serve, they embrace the vocation that they were created for and that is truly a beautiful thing which would then delight their souls.

However, in this fallen creation, too often, men abuse the privilege that an honorable wife affords them. Too often, men are selfish and controlling and do not extol the love or command the family with a love that is true and genuine and noble. Look at the divorce rate and the spousal abuse rate, and the child abuse rate around the world. These numbers speak volumes regarding the pain and suffering that men, women and children face, this side of heaven. The numbers of families trying hard to make things work, that are trudging through a self-centered society, trying to enforce values and love and morals and rules within a family setting are to be commended. And it is to anyone who is making an effort in this arena that I focus on now.

If you want to change your life, to find the happiness that only God can provide, then you need to start focusing on God and asking Him to use you as an instrument of love, to bring others happiness and peace. I have tried my whole life to serve others, and often times, I left God out of it. But your efforts are futile if they have no basis or foundation in everlasting happiness, right? And then there were times when all I said was "God, you need to help them," but I left my efforts out of the equation. God has given us each different gifts, in style and in number, in beauty and in depth. However, He expects you each to use all of the gifts that He has given you to advance His kingdom and in all other things. He then expects you to call upon Him for direction, clarity, and support, for He knows that you cannot do anything without Him. That is how He continually raises up great saints. He takes the imperfect people who are willing to listen to His Will and to offer up their talents, and He directs them, and aids them for His greater glory. He calls each of us to be great saints in this manor.

So the question is, do you want to be married to a man or to a saint? Will a man love you like a saint? Will he sacrifice and guide and protect and support like a saint? Does he have your best interests at heart more than a saint? If you want to be married to a saint, then you had better start praying for your spouse's vocation first and foremost. You had better start supporting his vocation in prayer and in deed immediately. But do not worry, what might seem thankless and fruitless will have a life altering affect on you as well. St. Monica understood this. St. Joseph was the perfect image of this. Both of these saints, and hundreds more, understood that their jobs were to support and care for the people that they were bound to - to truly love them in the most biblical of ways. And in that love and sacrifice and devotion, they found sanctification.

I want to be a great saint, so I will begin by being the best wife, and the best mother possible. I will do this by putting my husband's needs at the top of my priority list, supporting him in his sanctification process. I will aid and mold and shape my children, in character and morals and honor. I will set a visual example of love and sacrifice for them to witness and learn from first hand. I will continue to die to myself, for love of their souls.

Believe me, it will be a long and hard road, especially for someone like me. I protect my heart first, I have a strong bit of "Cali" in me yet (that is what true Southerners call my very unlady like sarcasm and straightforward nature). I tend to be wildly passionate - quick to action and righteous anger regardless of what the situaion truly needs. I lack patience and do not like to give forgiveness if the transgressors have not requested it. All of these cause me to be separated from my King, and my spouse and my children, and therefore these habits must die.

These are all things that the fiery skies of Africa seem to be trying to burn out of me. The Lord knows how I will be tempted to fall back on them 10-12 times a day, but the sanctification process is slow and long and difficult, as is all things of value. I have certainly learned to call upon great saints to intercede on my husband's behalf. My prayers are weak and pathetic and much more unfocused compared to those of St. Monica, and it took her almost 20 years to convert her son. My only hope rests in the constant conversion of my soul- that I grow in love and in holiness, for the sanctification of the souls around me. Lord, make me an instrument, through which your light shines forth.

From my prayer journal: I beseech St. Joseph, the most pure spouse of Our Blessed Mother, to intercede on behalf of all wives, who truly want to become great saints. Help us to grow in wisdom and patience and faithfulness. Help guide our thoughts and words and actions. Show us how to love more purely, for the greater glory of God, in support of our husbands, for the sanctification of their souls and ours. Amen.

“The Lord make his face shine upon you and be gracious to you; the Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace”

- Numbers 6: 25-26

Soundtrack song of the day – Take a Walk, Passion Pit

Consecration to Jesus through the Immaculate Heart of Mary, Marian Entrustment Part 2, Day 28

The Novena to the Divine Mercy, Day 1

Thursday March 20th

2014-03-22T00:49:00.000-07:00

March 20^th

Satan is jacking with my sleep. Oh, how would the devil mess with someone’s sleep, don’t you think you are over exaggerating?

So, an example? I am exhausted, so I lay down, am ready for bed, and a stare up at the ceiling trying to pray. I notice that the way the housekeeper tid my mosquito net last week looks like a noose. I fall asleep and see myself tying the mosquito net around my neck and feel myself leaning off of the side of the bed. I am holding onto the side, trying not to fall, but I have no control, and I start choking. I wake up trying to scream, but not being able too, and my neck is itchy and feels scratchy from the netting. I am stronger than his nightmares.

The next night, I go to sleep again, concentrating on the sounds of the wild dogs in the distance barking and fighting with each other. There is a major police station close by and you can hear sirens all night long. Suddenly, I have Benny and we are trying to run through the streets, and the sirens are going off, and the air is thick with smoke, and I cannot take in air, and I feeling dizzy, and I am watching people get hacked to death, and the wild dogs are fighting over what remains on the ground. I wake up sobbing – not because I was scared, but because my heart was breaking at the sight of people being so horrible to each other.

The next night, I am visiting an orphanage with a woman who works for an NGO in town, Brenda. And it starts to get dark, and I know better than to be out once it gets really dark, especially so far out in the villages without a man and a car. So Brenda and I are waiting and waiting for our driver, in the orphanage, and we hear a car turn down our road. Orphanages out in the villages are heavy secured and way off of the main road, as to not advertise their presence to avoid security issues. Suddenly, the rumbling gets louder and louder and we hear shouts and gun fire, and metal ladders slamming against the compound walls. The orphanage is under siege. I am in the room with the babies, the doors are locked, and I am trying to keep them as quiet as possible. I can hear Brenda screaming in the room of teenagers. I peak out of the window and see children being dragged out by their hair – wailing and crying and there is nothing I can do.

The babies’ home is in the very back by the kitchen, and at one point, the kitchen is being raided for food and supplies and I thought someone saw me, and all I can do is pray, but nobody comes back to investigate. I leave the room at day break, babies screaming everywhere from hunger, and thirst and fear, and everyone is gone. There are bodies everywhere, but nobody is alive. My ears are ringing from the constant “pop pop” noise. The smell of something burning is making me wretch, as thick smoke pours over the compound walls, and I realize that they burned the villagers homes that were near the orphanage. I have a phone but nobody to call and I have no idea where I am. I wake up suddenly to run to the bathroom and be sick.

And this is predominantly how my nights have gone. Even when we were at the Maria Flo, and Paul was here, he said I would moan and grimace and get upset all night long. Maybe it is because I have no one to wake me that I am remembering them so vividly. Maybe it is because I am so close to the finish ad I am being tempted in a way that suits my personality.

I like to do stuff. I try to be sensitive to the souls and hearts around me. I like to serve. I normally sleep very little at home 4-5 hours on a week night, depending on the time of year and how busy we are at home, but have been so tired for some reason. In all of my dreams, I am seeing the worst of humanity, against the weakest of people, and I am stuck watching – unable to protect or defend. The acts and violence are heart breaking. More importantly though, this is just one example of how satan will find a way to torment you, keep you from sleep, break down your emotions so that you are weak, tired, not thinking correctly, discouraged and your thoughts are disheveled. How well do you communicate and focus when you have no sleep? So when you are upset and discouraged, and need to focus on God for strength and reprieve, how easy is it to do that when your brain and thoughts feel disconnected?

In order to avoid sleeping at night, I have been downloading whole seasons of shows on my tablet and watching them all straight through. I may sleep from 4-7 AM, once it begins to get light out. Then I sleep another 2 hours while Benny is sleeping, which means I have to focus of making him very tired during our outdoor play time to assure that I get 2 hours of sleep.

Which brings up another point. How easy is it to parent a child who is essentially a large 18 month old, if you are too tired and disheveled to feel patient? It is NOT easy. Two days ago, he took off his diaper around 6:30 AM and I did not hear him get up, and I awoke to poop everywhere – the shower, the walls, the floor, him, his face and mouth, his clothes, his sheets. I wanted to scream, and felt ill, and used 3 packs of Clorox wipes and had him under the shower head for 30 minutes, and then used a half bottle of hand sanitizer, and cut off all of his fingernails as short as I could get them because I was worried about the bacteria trapped underneath. It was so hard for me to not lose it all day long.

Every time I really looked at him, all I could picture was him covered in it. My germ alarm was beyond freaking out. He wanted to hug me, but I was so disgusted. I let him, but was gagging the whole time. The next morning, I caught him right as he had taken off his diaper and was pooping on his backpack that I brought him for the airplane ride. He loved that backpack, but I had no ay to clean it, so I made him take it out and throw it in the dumpster. He was so upset, but he seemed completely oblivious to the fact that his actions were not at all appropriate. I had the waitress translate to him in Lugandan to make sure that he understood every word I was saying. Her presence also kept my focus and anger in check.

You take my mornings, and couple them with my nights, and things have not been going well in the whole “spiritual warfare” arena. I try to focus on other things at night – random tv shows, writing the blog, reading about saints. I pray, run through my petitions, focusing on their faces in my head and what they are suffering through. What I am dealing with is easy compared to all of them. My life is easy at home – I have 5 pretty great children, my husband is amazing, my house fits us, my dog is cute..my problems are #firstworldproblems.

I took this on out of love for Christ, but there sure has been a night or two when I have woken up from a nightmare or something I have seen while I was trying to fall asleep and thought, “I could leave right now. Nobody would fault me. I just need to go home, I can come back and get Michael in a few weeks, or find another family for him. I CANNOT handle this.” And then I stare at my wall and say my favorite line ever, “For the sake of His sorrowful passion, have Mercy on us and on the whole world.”

And today, I can look up to the dark gray skies, in the 90 degree heat, and praise God that Benny did not pull another nasty stunt today, and thank Him for His many gifts and the ability to offer up something for someone else. I can smile and say, “Kids will be kids and thank God for this blessing of Benny.” I can try to nap deeply so that I have the strength to keep my focus on God’s love, and I maintain a sense of composure, even when every inch of me is saying, “You are so NOT composed, lash out, get angry, you have a right to.”

God supplies the answers, I just have to be strong enough to listen. I have to go to great lengths to make sure that I am setting myself up for success, and not for failure. Sleep, rest, get fresh air, pray, focus, concentrate on serving others and minimize stress by accepting God’s will you’re your day…these are the keys to minimizing satan’s ability to jack with you. Let us focus on protecting our souls from any extra temptation this Lent – this period in the Church calendar is hard enough.

Notes from my prayer journal: You can only be tempted by things that you care about, things that you put ahead of God. Great saints have dealt with doubts and fears and worries until they loose themselves from the tis that they had in the material world. Christ tried to get people to see this in His commands to “leave everything and follow Me.” Help us to do this today, to relinquish attachments to the world and to the physical things that keep us away from following God with all of our hearts, all of our mind, and all of our strength.

“Now it is God who made us for this very purpose and has given us the Spirit as a deposit, guaranteeing what is to come.”

-2 Corinthians 5:5

Soundtrack song of the day – Crazy Life, Toad the Wet Sprocket

Consecration to Jesus through the Immaculate Heart of Mary, , Day 29

The Novena to the Divine Mercy, Day 2

Plight of the Orphans

2014-03-20T00:21:00.000-07:00

Tuesday, March 18^th

This is the brand new kitchen that was rebuilt because the last one collapsed. All meals are cooked in outdoor kitchens like this one, and they serve all of the students and teachers breakfast and lunch if they cannot supply their own.

I am not sure I would be smiling so much if I spent my whole class time kneeling in the dirt and rocks, but these angels feel so blessed to even be here.

Two girls, of the four orphaned girls that Arthur raises, made this sign for Paul and I.

Here is one of the classrooms that was not converted to house the girls - there are beds and sleeping mats that they all share.

Welcome to the orphaned Boys Dorm

Very focused on their drumming

Waiting for theawards that I brought for them - wooden cross necklaces for the top students in each class, and bigger crosses for the performers.

They were so excited about new pencils that they refuse to put them down while they worked...again, no desks

Classrooms are overflowing, but supplying homes to the orphans in need out ranks spacious classrooms

At 4 AM, we awoke to a thunder and rain storm. Everything shook with fury, I could hear the gutters overflowing out my window. I spoke with the embassy this morning, and my dumb DS-260 is finally correct. Now all they will do is wait for the IOM, make some decisions based on that, and set up an appointment for me to come and turn in all of my forms. I read through the court hearing, the ruling, and all of the affidavits that were taken last night while Benny slept. I have been told that I will be grilled on most of the pertinent details of the hearing, his history, and more during my exit interview. I feel confident in these details, but probably only because I was somewhat in the know during the early stages of his life. So, it is a waiting game again, and I have finally become accustom to waiting, although that makes me no less stir crazy.

A month ago, I got off a plane in Uganda, although it feels like so much longer. I have been to villages, fed children, investigated water issues, met music producers, been on safari, floated on the Nile, walked the equator, and watched coffee and mangos grow - literally.

When floating down the Nile, I was amazed by the papyrus, tall, lean and whistling in the breeze. An image came to me…here I was, floating down the largest river in the world, plucking a child from the source of the Nile. I had a little Precious Moments figure that I almost shoved in the donate box before I left, it was a maid servant for the queen, plucking Moses from the Nile, in Egypt. Isn’t it amazing what saving 1 life can do for the world? But here I am adopting 1 child…that is the saddest part for me sometimes. I picked up one tiny piece of sand, on a beach with a billion specs – trampled underfoot and ignored. Do you know how many orphans I have seen? I have been to only 3 tiny orphanages, and I have seen HUNDREDS of them.

Some of these children are dying from AIDs and malaria and parasites. Parents and family have died and passed away. Some children were abandoned because they were conceived in cases of incest or rape or witchcraft. Others were abandoned because of ill parents, lack of money, or their parents’ praying that their children have a shot at something better. And in Africa, sometimes, people just disappear into thin air.

Some children are adoptable, and some are not, but they are all in need of love.

Sometimes that love comes from donations being given to the orphanages. The orphanages here are full, and the caretakers are dependent on muzungos from all over the world for financial support. They do the work of feeding, clothing, educating, and preparing these children for life on their own, with no family, or support or real hope at a job or future. Sometimes love is shown through sponsorship programs, sending money over every month so that a child in a particular community is educated, supplies are bought for them, repairs to homes and gardens are made. Sometimes, families go over and pluck children from the Nile, or rather from a sea of children with large, tired, wary eyes. And then there is true love, the love that is everlasting – training up children about the love that Christ has for them, and the sacrifices that He made for their salvation.

This training up happens in small Catholic schools all over the countryside. I have seen a lot of school children during my time here now, and during my previous time here, and I will say that the happiest ones, are the ones who feel loved, the ones who feel cared for, the ones who radiate Christ’s love through their smiles. They are trusting, happy, and giggling with enthusiasm in the front row of the crowds. They are the ones who ask a thousand questions of you, their excited hands raised high, shaking and waving for your attention. The real love of Christ is taught and promoted in tiny schools that are supported by people like you.

God demanded that we care for the orphan and the widow. Adoption is not for everyone, certainly I have seen plenty of people who cannot handle the one or two that they have. But there are certainly numerous other ways to support an orphan, to give them love that lasts for eternity. I just want to encourage all of you to pray about how you are doing this, and if you do not already doing this, then find a small way to do so.

How painful would it be for you to send $20 a month over to my friend Arthur’s “New Red Star of St. Francis Kawoko” school? Last year was hard for them – 4 parents passed away, and 1 student from communicable diseases. They have 163 students, and 80 of them did not pay school fees last term. Of the 80 that did not pay, 36 of those are orphans. There are so many orphans in the village, and no orphanage, so the orphans live on the streets, except for a lucky 8 children, that Arthur takes care of personally. He took two of his smaller classrooms and turned them into living blocks, one for boys, the other for girls. So not only does he provide free education for 80 children, and breakfast and lunch to the students who have none, but he also feeds, cloths, and nurtures 8 orphans from his village.

And why does Arthur does this? Because he is full of love. Because he was orphaned as a teenager, and Fr. Michael took care of him, and made sure that he was supported. Because Arthur knows how it feels to have no hope, and how it feels when someone shows that he cares. He loves so greatly, that he took the land that he inherited, when his parents passed away, and he built a school on it. He uses his crop lands to grow fruits and vegetables in order to feed those students. The orphans he cares for, have bigger sleeping quarters than he and his beautiful wife.

He teaches these children about the love of Christ. He lives that love for Christ, and he radiates it to his pupils. You can show love to the orphans by supporting Arthur, and you can do so in great faith. Why? Because I have been to 9 different schools in Uganda, and spoken with at least 5 different headmasters, and besides the ones that were Sisters, Arthur is the most creative, supportive, and loving headmaster I have met to date.

Montgomery Catholic Preparatory students have been collecting money for Fr. Michael, and for the schools that Father supports. One of these schools is Red Star, and what he can do with $3000 is amazing. Arthur took the donation, and made much needed repairs to the school, had desks built because children were kneeling on the ground and using benches as desks. He repaired leaking ceilings, he installed doors, filled the bullet holes in the sides of the buildings, and bought mosquito covers for the windows. Nap, Jeff and I truly were taken by this man’s love and humility, and I was able to see how he spent the money that we gave him last year.

If you wanted to support the education of orphans, and make education obtainable for them, you could do so at Red Star. To cover 1 orphan, for a year of schooling, you would need $85. To cover all 36 orphans, you would need $3060. Maybe your interest is in safety and protection and feeding and clothing of orphans. You could support one of Arthur’s orphans for $500 a year – and that covers bed mats, clothing, food, medical expenses and schooling for the year.

Your interest could be in education expansion – making education more obtainable to orphans in his village. If this is where your interest lies, help Arthur expand and build and repair, in order to take in and serve more orphans. In his budget, the repairs and expansion costs are hefty - $15,000 for 3 more very large brick classrooms, complete with chalk boards, desks, steel doors, and real windows.

Water. Everyone needs water, and maybe you believe that every child should get a cup of water every day at school. I believe that this should happen, but what do you do during the very dry summer months, when there is no rain for a very long time? How can you give 136 children a cup of water every day? Well, if you were Arthur, you would say that you needed a new water tank, in order to collect and store water more efficiently. The cost for a new tank is $2500.

What can we do to fulfill His command in Deuteronomy? Father Michael would say, “The little we can do, we must do.” Arthur would say that all things, big and small, are accomplished for love of Him. I would say that if you are looking for a great way to be a missionary in a foreign land, without ever leaving your house, then support a missionary who is proven and worthy and grateful.

Notes from my prayer journal: I left the US a month ago, to answer God’s call in my life, and give an orphan a family. Our Lord, in His Infinite wisdom, knows our hearts, our abilities and our weaknesses. I saw a little picture on Facebook this week that said, “No man has ever gone poor, from giving.” God knows what we can handle, and He knows our true efforts in this matter. Hopefully people will pray about Arthur’s school, and email me asking questions about how to help him. Maybe people want to see pictures of his school, or get updates, and they can do so on his New Red Star Facebook page, or message him directly on Facebook. Look under my friends list, “Arthur Mubiru” and ask him how you can serve the orphans in his village.

“O Lord Almighty, blessed is the man who trusts in you.”

- Psalm 84:12

Soundtrack song of the day – Hey Ho, Lumineers

Consecration to Jesus through the Immaculate Heart of Mary, Marian Entrustment, Day 27

The Novena to the Divine Mercy, Day 9 & The Novena to St. Joseph, Day 9

Visit www.prayermorenovenas.com, to sign up and get the daily prayers to different novenas sent to your inbox every morning!!

St. Patty's Day

2014-03-18T07:44:00.001-07:00

Monday, March 17th

We had to get up early because I need to prepare Benny for his IOM appointment that we had this morning. We were told to be there at 9,and marched up the hill to ait at around 8:45. We kind of checked in, but were told that we had no need to. We waited and waited and waited. People were getting called two and three times, before we had been seen once, and we were firs ton the list from the Friday before. I finally got up and asked if there was something else we were supposed to do because it had been 2 hours already, and had not been called once. She said we would check, and we were called around 20 minutes later. I am not sure what happened, but she called us back and took Benny Michael’s vitals, and then she took us straight to back to slip in between people to have his TB read.

And I had not noticed before, but he had a mark on his arm, and the edge of the circle they had drawn, 7 cm wide. Ugh. My heart dropped. I started texting Fr. Michael to see if he had the BCG vaccine when he was a baby. I went to the CDC website to check the norms on tuberculosis readings. If a child has a BCG vaccine, then the skin test will come back as slightly raised and bumpy like his – almost like a ring worm circle, and it stays under 10 cms. OK, so the size is good, and it is not a hug bubble, or seeping or nasty like active TB would have read.

So now how do I get the proof, right here and now that he actually had the BCG, considering his medical records were never turned over to me from the previous hospitals that treated him? Father Michael made a mad dash to town, and took a photo of his medical card and emailed it to me. I showed it to the doctor, and he believed me, but sad that it was up to the Embassy. I requested a chest x-ray to prove that he did not have TB, but the very kind doctor told me that the Embassy needed to request the x-ray. My heart sank. This could push coming home back several more weeks.

In fact, once the Embassy gets the IOM paperwork, they could demand a chest x-ray and another blood panel, and a round of antibiotics, and then they would wait 1 week after the antibiotics were done, to do another blood panel, and make sure that he was cleared. I was so concerned. And then I wondered, should I trust the reading and assume it is from his BCG? What happens if he has early onset TB? Then I could get it, or my kids, or our friends? I need to get him checked out separately from this, maybe back at the Wentz clinic or at the British hospital, the Surgery, so we could get on something right away if need be. I could go in and ask for a chest x-ray for him, and a blood test. If it comes back positive, then he gets meds, and I start some just in case. Simple enough. I guess. I prayed to St. Patrick, that he settle my heart and mind and show me what I need to do.

During the interview with the Doctor, he suddenly got kind of emotional while he was asking me all sorts of questions.

“So you have no idea if his seizures will continue the rest of his life?”

Uhm, no, we do not know. His pediatrician said that children grow out of this type of seizures around 6 or 7, but we won’t know until then.

“And what about his asthma, do you think it is seasonal?”

Well, we were told that when he has malaria or seasonal colds, then he has asthma attacks. I brought a mini nebulizer with me and an inhaler, chamber and mask, with me just in case he needed one.

“So you are very prepared?”

Well, I try to be, we have known of his existence for so long now, I just kind of knew of things that would help me if he got sick.

“And do you think that he cannot talk because he is, well, mentally deficient?”

Uhm, I have no idea. I have been reading a bunch that say this is typical of an institutionalized child. I have read a bunch that says the therapy we will need is extensive. He does try and he is learning little things every day, so I cannot be too sure. Either way, we are preparing for whatever lies ahead.

“So you have known all of this, this whole time, and knew he could not talk yet, and you still want him?”

Well, we started the adoption process long before we really gave any thought to adopting Michael in particular. But when I saw him last November, and saw how he was living, and the fact that he would never succeed in Uganda without being able to communicate, my husband and I decided to try and bring him to the US, where we could get him therapy, and help communicating, and schooling that would not be available to him here. We could give him a permanent family instead of people who are in and out of his life, someone to depend on, forever. “Well…(kind of teary eyed) It always impresses me, when parents from the US, come here, and take these children who are injured, or ill or handicapped, and they are so willing to bring them to the US and help them. I do wish you good luck, and I can make no promises about how long it will take you to get home, but if you need anything, you can come find me here.”

I thanked him repeatedly, and reassured him that we would do whatever it takes to get Michael communicating and learning and functioning within a family setting once we returned. It was amazing and emotionally rewarding to here that, in a setting that has been kind of hostile during the last week or so. I attributed his response to St. Patrick casting a little ray of sunshine on this rainy, gray day.

I always loved St. Patrick’s Day. Growing up, it was a huge celebration with my extended family. Grandma would stand up and sing Irish songs from her childhood, my mom would make a feast, and there were enough Bailey’s and Creams to go around, green face paint and green Mardi Gras beads.

When we were living in the Bay Area, without extended family, it meant a huge Irish meal, and Notre Dame tee shirts, and green hair bows and crazy socks, and all of our teachers saying, “Of course you are Irish, look at the blond wavy hair, freckles, and pale complexion.” Actually we were more German than Irish, but we soaked up the attention when we could. The Moseman Family grew up in Long Island, and the massive celebration and devotion to St. Patrick came along with their red hair and freckles.

For me, really though, St. Patrick’s Day was a time to watch Grandma Eileen shine. She would be so tickled that everyone wanted to hear her sing. Even when Alzheimer’s had taken most of her short term memory, and the twinkle from her eye, she could still sit in her chair and belt out most of the song. The pieces that she forgot could be filled in by my cousin Katie, who could mirror her voice singing that song perfectly.

Grandma was one of those souls that loved deeply. She would write to my grandfather when he was away during World War II and in Korea. When he was living in New York looking for work, and she was in California with her and her children (10 all together), she would write long loving letters about her strife, her love, her fears, her travails, her loneliness, her need for him. She never let people feel lonely, and she never let them leave empty handed. And what can she give, when she was so low on funds? Food.

Even though times were hard for her and her 10 children, she took in every other neighborhood child. Imagine if each child had a friend or two over – 20+ children would be sitting or standing around her kitchen table. Oh goodness, the stories they tell today of what they did and got away with as children growing up in California in the 60s and 70s.

If it was not around the kitchen table that Grandma would show her love, it would be with the wedding cakes that she made for people. Her beautiful hand-made cakes were the talk of the town. How many people growing up around my mom and aunts and uncles had their wedding cakes or elaborate birthday cakes made by my Grandmother? And her grandchildren loved when Grandma was done making the wedding cakes, because that meant that there would be bowls of different colored icings on the kitchen counters. When we came over for a visit and needed a snack, she would make us rainbow colored graham crackers, or put icing on saltines when we were sick.

As we grew up, we would be force fed. We would be over eating dinner, and when we would finish, Grandma would say, “Allison, how about some applesauce? Let me give you some applesauce. Allison, eat the applesauce, you barely ate anything.” When people would leave, she would offer them cans of food, “Maybe you will get hungry at home, just take the can of tuna fish.” She used to run down the drive way with a food item, or a coupon or a piece of newspaper with an article that we might want. “Wait, Allison, here is a coupon for $.25 off of baby powder. You might need this.”

When she could no longer chase after us, she would stand at the door and wave, and flicker the front porch lights on and off. A silent tribute that said, “I love you, I am watching you, come back and see me.” I remember the last time she did this, we were pulling out, heading to my moms, and getting ready to head back to Alabama. I stopped at the corner, and saw the lights blinking in the rear view mirror, and stopped and stared and thought, “This very well could be the last time that I see those lights,” and it kind of broke my heart, that I was in such a rush to get home, and that I could not enjoy her for a few more minutes.

Grandma loved to do things for us. She would go to the Dollar Store and to garage sales and by whatever Pop would let her. Little statues, odd purses, weird cheesy artwork, plaques with plastic fish wearing santa hats that sang Christmas carols. Once I could drive, she would beg me to take her out of the house and to the Tuesday morning store or to the Dollar Store or to somewhere that she had 30+ coupons to. “Let’s walk to Walgreens, I have all of these coupons for mouth wash and toothpaste.”

Oh, Grandma and her coupons and the newspaper. She would sit and diligently cut coupons out and place them in a hanging organizer that looked like a shoe holder that hung on the door. On each compartment, there was the name of one of her children and every time she would find the name of one of her children in an article, she would cut that out too. Uncle Michael might walk in and look in his compartment, looking for stray mail, and there might be 5 slips of paper that said, “Michael Johnson.”

How she loved her children. Anything that she could do for them, she would. She raised all 10 of them in a tiny house that originally had only 4 very small bedrooms – there were bunk beds and children everywhere. They shared 1 full bathroom, with another very small bathroom off of the back of the kitchen I think. In fact, there was not a child that did not move back in for a period of time after or during college. The kids renovated the back bedroom and put a really nice bathroom in the back, but Grandma and Pop never moved from their tiny bedroom in the front of the house to the large master bedroom in the back – that was for her children, or her guests. In fact, when my parents moved us from the Bay Area back to Sacramento, all of the 5 girls lived in the back bedroom, 1 set of bunk beds and 3 twin beds. Oh the trouble we would get into being in there together. But they never seemed to mind, and always sacrificed for others and brought joy to the people around them.

When Pop had to stop driving, they would walk the neighborhoods, and then the neighbor’s children became their children. They would walk miles, and wave to everyone, and stop and talk to people, and pray for people along their journeys. She was never upset, never sad, she would smile and bring joy to everyone she met. And the walks would help her memory, and the people on her path became the people of her past. She would call neighbors by her children’s names, small child by the names of her grandchildren. They understood, and they did not care. And if one day, the neighbors did not see my grandparents, they would worry and call my mom and ask if everything was alright.

I wish I could have been around during the young glory days of the Johnson kids. I kind of do not need to though, I see a huge portion of my Grandma in my mom. I had friends in high school who liked my mom more than her own, and not because my mom let them get away with everything, but because we got away with NOTHING. She was always there, always close, always enforcing her rules about grades, dress, work, chores. Even when the last child, my brother Joey, is away his friends still come and see my mom, and she cooks for them or bakes for them – huge trays of magic bars, and cookies, cinnamon rolls and crumb cake. The people that she baby sits for become her extended family, their children, like her grandchildren. They cry when they have to leave her, and love on her when they are there.

So I guess that St. Patrick’s Day left me prayerful and introspective than celebratory. Since I could not plan a party for my children and their friends like I normally would (for awesome kids like the Romero family or with the O’Grady family) I prayed for their protection, their crazy busy lives as military families and their strength to lead strong Catholic lives.

I looked for a place in town that would have something close to St. Patrick’s Day party or celebration. I called the only pub that I could find on the internet, and they were an English pub and none too keen on hosting a St. Patrick’s Day party. Everyone else I talked to had no idea who St. Patrick was. In fact, there are not a whole lot of catechized Catholics in Kampala. Their faith here is lived daily, with few devotions outside of what they here or learn about at Mass or through traditions, like the Feast of the martyrs, St. Charles Lwanga and his companions.

The village children wear tiny miraculous metals on brown cord around their necks from the time that they are very young. In fact, during my first few days with Benny Michael, I showed him one that I had, loose in a bag of metals. He picked it up and slammed it against my neck a few times. I took it as a sign that he wanted me to wear it, so I took that one and a 4 Way Cross and tied them on a brown string around my neck. He likes to grab it and play with it when he is trying to fall asleep. When people see my necklace in the Capital, they comment and ask which village I am from.

I promised Benny that he would have a wonderful St. Patrick’s Day meal when we got home, so I could spoil everyone with my mom’s awesome recipes and we settled for a fruit salad for dinner, and Benny got a banana smoothie. And we called it a night early, having really struggled to stay awake after having gotten up so early with the IOM. I prayed one final time to St. Patrick for his intercession regarding the path that I should take regarding Benny’s TB results, and I would ask them same from everyone that I know.

Notes from my prayer journal: St. Patrick chose to be a missionary to the land that brought him pain and separation from his family. Let me serve a one while I am here, trudging through my spiritual and emotional desert. Help me to focus on bringing joy to the people that I meet, and set an example of love and charity to those in need.

“No one will be able to stand up against you all of the days of your life. As I was with Moses, so I will be with you; I will never leave you or forsake you.”

- Joshua 1:5

Soundtrack song of the day – Evening, Band of Horses

Consecration to Jesus through the Immaculate Heart of Mary, Mary’s Retreat, Day 3, Day 26

The Novena to the Divine Mercy, Day 8 & The Novena to St. Joseph, Day 8

See the Complete Lorica - (St. Patrick's Breastplate)

I arise today
Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity,
Through belief in the Threeness,
Through confession of the Oneness
of the Creator of creation.

I arise today
Through the strength of Christ's birth with His baptism,
Through the strength of His crucifixion with His burial,
Through the strength of His resurrection with His ascension,
Through the strength of His descent for the judgment of doom.

I arise today
Through the strength of the love of cherubim,
In the obedience of angels,
In the service of archangels,
In the hope of resurrection to meet with reward,
In the prayers of patriarchs,
In the predictions of prophets,
In the preaching of apostles,
In the faith of confessors,
In the innocence of holy virgins,
In the deeds of righteous men.

I arise today, through
The strength of heaven,
The light of the sun,
The radiance of the moon,
The splendor of fire,
The speed of lightning,
The swiftness of wind,
The depth of the sea,
The stability of the earth,
The firmness of rock.

I arise today, through
God's strength to pilot me,
God's might to uphold me,
God's wisdom to guide me,
God's eye to look before me,
God's ear to hear me,
God's word to speak for me,
God's hand to guard me,
God's shield to protect me,
God's host to save me
From snares of devils,
From temptation of vices,
From everyone who shall wish me ill,
afar and near.

I summon today
All these powers between me and those evils,
Against every cruel and merciless power
that may oppose my body and soul,
Against incantations of false prophets,
Against black laws of pagandom,
Against false laws of heretics,
Against craft of idolatry,
Against spells of witches and smiths and wizards,
Against every knowledge that corrupts man's body and soul;
Christ to shield me today
Against poison, against burning,
Against drowning, against wounding,
So that there may come to me an abundance of reward.

Christ with me,
Christ before me,
Christ behind me,
Christ in me,
Christ beneath me,
Christ above me,
Christ on my right,
Christ on my left,
Christ when I lie down,
Christ when I sit down,
Christ when I arise,
Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks of me,
Christ in every eye that sees me,
Christ in every ear that hears me.

I arise today
Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity,
Through belief in the Threeness,
Through confession of the Oneness
of the Creator of creation.

Sunday, the 16th

2014-03-18T02:30:00.001-07:00

Sunday, March 16^th

On this Sunday, I realized how much I miss the mourning and contemplating that we practice together as a community at Holy Spirit. I miss the confession schedule, the Stations fo the Cross, the Meager Meals, the extra Masses and rosaries. I miss the music; sad and contemplative as we prepare for this period in the Church year.

I miss closing my eyes, and chanting “Wait for the Lord, the End is Near, Wait for the Lord, be strong, take heart,” and feeling the pain of the wait, and feeling my eyes tear up, and knowing that this wait and this suffering is purifying. Every year I wait for this song, I look forward to the battle, because it always leaves me cleansed and renewed.

I focused on this song a lot in my head during the day – as I checked emails, as I read my Consecration Book, as I poured over my adoption to-do list. I found myself humming it over and over.

Sunday, it rained all day. The power was horrible, the internet connection was nill. I thanked God for my Orange card so that I had internet access on my tablet. Benny’s belly was bothering him a little, and we had not been sleeping well. I could literally hear the mosquitoes in my room. No matter how much clothing I was wearing, I am still getting bit. And the only places I did not spray, the palms of my hands, and the soles of my feet, now have bites on them.

I started Facebook messaging with a friend of mine, a Brother in Cullman, Alabama. He seemed surprised that I was still in Uganda (we only get to chat maybe every other month for a few minutes) and I discussed with him what was going on. “I am not surprised that all of this is going during Lent.” You and Paul and Michael are trying to do something great, and Satan will not let you do this easily. Focus on the Divine Mercy image (that you have hanging up), “Jesus I trust in you.” Think of Mother Teresa.

Everyone saw her as this humble soul that gave everything up, who had complete trust in the Lord and who did not worry. But that is not true. She went to God about her lack of strength, her spiritual dryness, her immense sufferings. She begged and mourned and wept. She relied on the strength of the people who prayed for her. Brother Bruno mentioned this, and I had totally forgotten about a book that I just bought, about the real Mother Teresa, based on her writings and her journals, and her quotes. Her outward demeanor, her behavior was settled and calm, but she says that is only because she prayed every second of every day for her constant worries and pains. She fought the absence of God’s voice, and trudged through, relying only on her trust and faith. I need to finish reading this book. He reminded me that she met every day as it came, never planned out too far in advance so that daily she could be open to the plan that God would reveal to her. (A great tip for moms – this way you cannot be frustrated when something does not go your way.)

I told him that Sunday nights are the worst, when the whole trip and goal and focus seems empty and useless. I told him that I could fail right now, just pack up and go home and leave Benny with Fr. Michael and feel safe, and calm, and have everything that I miss from home. That I could go home and stop suffering in the way that God had intended. I told him that there is such intense spiritual battling going on inside me, and that I needed him to set my mind straight. Be the voice in the darkness Brother Bruno. ‘Command me to stay here and suffer for you. Order me to so that I can see, right here and now that this dryness and emptiness has value.’ ‘OK. Do this for my vocation.’ Boom. Done. Settled. I mentally added Brother’s vocation to my list of prayer petitions, and even though he was already there, I felt renewed and refocused. I begged God for focus, for a voice, for renewal this Sunday, and it came by Facebook messaging, and it was perfect. This is exactly what I needed, at exactly the right time – Praise God for Facebook, and Brothers and good friends.

Notes from my prayer journal: The vocations of every single man, woman, and child, are a battle ground. You will only be happy, if you are following the Will of God. You will only have peace when you have faith and trust and hope in His Will. Otherwise, your soul will be searching for the next best thing, and the next best thing is never god enough. We all need to make a concerted effort to pray for the people in the midst of the battle ground, for their strength and trust and peace. In particular, pray for my friend Brother Bruno, for his strength and I will offer my strength up for his.

“I have strength for all things in Christ, Who empowers me (I am ready for anything and equal to anything through Him Who infuses inner strength into me; I am self-sufficient in Christ’s Sufficiency).”

- Philippians 4:13

Soundtrack song of the day – Such Great Heights – Postal Service

Consecration to Jesus through the Immaculate Heart of Mary, Mary’s Retreat, Day 2, Day 25

The Novena to the Divine Mercy, Day 7 & The Novena to St. Joseph, Day 7

Saturday

2014-03-18T02:28:00.003-07:00

Saturday, the 15^th

I am starting to go stir crazy. It has been about a week since I have walked around like a normal person in a public place – shopped, browsed, hung out, conversed. I wanted to go out and wire Father Michael the remaining of the MCPS money, but Linda told me that would be quite risky to do in person, and that I should continue to make those types of transactions of the internet. This will make it easier to give MCPS receipts of who got what, when, so I agree, and wire Father the first of two donations.

Father Michael had said that he was coming today to sign some much needed paperwork. It was to be stamped and branded by the Ugandan government before I can bring it to the Embassy. I also had designed some new letterhead for his parish, and has pulled out all of the gifts that I had brought for the people who were close to Little Benny Michael during his lifetime – Auburn and Alabama shirts, jump drives with music, baby clothes for their children, quilts, school supplies from the Holy Spirit Academy School Supply Drive, and more. All of these items take up two whole suitcases, and it would be nice to get a jump on reorganizing my stuff in order to come home.

I was giddy to see someone that I knew, that I had something in common with. I had Michael dressed and ready to see him, but the hours ticked by very slowly. Suddenly it was 3 o’clock, Michael was asleep, I was praying, and Father appeared with a friend. I had been able to tell that he picked up his first wire, but not the second, so it was hard to tell when he was coming. I woke up and we came out with the laptop, the paperwork, and the letter head files. I figured I would just haul everything out later. Father had a friend with him, his promoter. If someone wants to have a song played on the radio in Uganda, you go from radio station to radio station playing the song, playing the music file, and paying them off. It is important for Father to get the song on the radio to pique the interest of the public, so that when he shoots the video next week, people have already heard it and are interested. The promoter’s job, essentially is to converse with radio stations, tell his friends, tweet and post FB messages about the song, and spread the word to local groups and churches about what is going on with Father.

As soon as Father was there, he was gone again. He stayed half an hour, gave me feedback on the letter heads, told me of his plans for a woman and daughter coming in from Auburn, signed the Embassy forms and the baptismal certificate and then he was gone. Michael had not even woken up yet really, still groggy and not even comprehending what was going on. At one point, he walked to the car because he thought Father was taking us somewhere. It was so quick, that I totally forgot the bags of stuff on the floor of my bedroom. Ack. Two very large suitcases worth of stuff, in a heap on my floor. Bummer.

So my taste of “familiar” came and left, and it was hang out time for Benny and Mommy. I felt like I needed to reward him for being good all day waiting, so he got extra “backyard time”, which really meant that I got more “conversing with God” time. I kind of denied Benny’s request to play soccer, and made him entertain himself with the ball and whatever else he could find in the backyard. I had never done that, and he pouted for sure, but within 20 minutes, he stopped pulling on my arm, pulling my leg and whining, and he was fine.

The weekends are the worst here because I know that my process of leaving, is not going anywhere. When I pray about it, I can see that a great portion of my sufferings through my life has prepared me for this, has helped to make me stronger. This is a similar feeling to what I dealt with during my freshmen year in college at a girls’ Catholic college in Indiana.

Ultimately, the school was a commuter school with only 2 handfuls of students who stayed on campus over the weekend, and I was the youngest one, with no car, not a lot of money and no connections to people close by to visit or stay with. It was ridiculously lonely – the campus was dead, and I was stuck on it. The good thing for me was that I got lots of alone time, wandering around a beautiful campus. That bad thing was that it was first time being away for an extended period of time, and being from a huge family, I hated the silence. I could not function. It is a BEAUTIFUL campus. There is a gorgeous grotto, a bridge over every pond, a walking stations- of-the-cross that were marble and life size.

The problem was that the spirit of the people did not match the spirit of the campus. The numbers of nuns was greater than the numbers of students. The Mass had maybe 20 people in attendance. If there truly Catholic people there, it would have been easier, the spirit would have been different. My Spanish teacher invited us to her house and told this young group of freshmen girls that she had had an abortion when she was about 10 weeks pregnant, and that it was the best thing that ever happened to her because she could finish her degree, she met her husband, and had a great life now. I was horrified and could instantly picture what her child looked like then, and how it might look today. I felt like I was in a constant battle to maintain the morals and values of my youth vs becoming a raging liberal feminist.

There was a handful of people who made my life a living hell. Seriously, they would crank call me all night long, and I would silence the phone, but the phone had a red light on the top that would blink and flash when people were calling, and make an incessant clicking noise when messages were left. Worse yet, you could not delete the messages until they were completely over so I listened to tirades about how unpopular I was, what a loser I was, how fat and ugly I was, how ridiculous it was that I was a believer, and who in their right minds would leave California to Indiana unless they were total losers.

They would bang on my door all night, steal my stuff from the fridge, steal my laundry and throw it in trash bins hidden all throughout the basement. They told people that I was addicted to pain medication, even though I was just taking a prescribed daily migraine prevention medication, and even went to the RD and I had to have my room searched – and yep, what did she find, a migraine prevention prescription. One of the girls had started as my roommate and she would sneak her boyfriend in and lock me out constantly so she could do God knows what. We could not dial 1-800 numbers from our rooms, so I had to go to the basement to call my parents every Sunday night, and they knew this, so they would sit downstairs, and when they saw me headed to the basement, they would run ahead, and pick up the phone and act like they were talking – for hours. I felt like I was in junior high again. It was a nightmare.

I did find a small group of people that I hung out with once in awhile – 4 girls in total that I could find some occasional mental reprieve with – Emily, Katie, Sarah and Melissa. I could also escape to my cousin’s dorm at the Notre Dame with another friend who was at a different school in Indiana. She would come get me twice a semester to go up to ND. Toward the end of the year, after a very rough second semester, I was “saved by grace” or rather, a friend named Emily, who was a senior on campus, who was conservative and from California. She introduced me to Franciscan University, and I was accepted and headed off within the summer months and my horrible periods of loneliness and mental torture were gone.

And all of this made me mature enough in my faith to make good use of the suffering. I reflected upon this period in my life while waiting for Father to come for a visit and I came across a beautiful Lenten reading. Actually, it is from St. Louis de Montfort’s Consecration to Jesus through the Immaculate Heart of Mary, which serves as my Advent preparation tool every year. I must have read it at least 13 times, once a year since joining Stella Mariae Household a Franciscan. I never thought of it as good readings for Lent, but when you paste a few days together, it is quite lovely.

I thought it might be a good reminder for me, to write it out, to let it serve as a personal meditation.

Eighth Day
Imitation: Book 1, Chapter 13

Of resisting temptations.

As long as we live in this world, we cannot be without temptations and tribulations. Hence it is written in Job "Man's life on earth is a temptation." Everyone therefore should be solicitous about his temptations and watch in prayer lest the devil find an opportunity to catch him: who never sleeps, but goes about, seeking whom he can devour. No one is so perfect and holy as sometimes not to have temptations and we can never be wholly free from them. Nevertheless, temptations are very profitable to man, troublesome and grievous though they may be, for in them, a man is humbled, purified and instructed. All the Saints passed through many tribulations and temptations and were purified by them. And they that could not support temptations, became reprobate, and fell away.

Many seek to flee temptations, and fall worse into them. We cannot conquer by flight alone, but by patience and true humility we become stronger than all our enemies. He who only declines them outwardly, and does not pluck out their root, will profit little; nay, temptations will sooner return and he will find himself in a worse condition. By degrees and by patience you will, by God's grace, better overcome them than by harshness and your own importunity. Take council the oftener in temptation, and do not deal harshly with one who is tempted; but pour in consolation, as thou wouldst wish to be done unto yourself. Inconstancy of mind and little confidence in God, is the beginning of all temptations. For as a ship without a helm is driven to and fro by the waves, so the man who neglects and gives up his resolutions is tempted in many ways.

Ninth Day
Imitation: Book 1, Chapter 13

Fire tries iron, and temptation a just man. We often know not what we are able to do, but temptations discover what we are. Still, we must watch, especially in the beginning of temptation; for then the enemy is more easily overcome, if he be not suffered to enter the door of the mind, but is withstood upon the threshold the very moment he knocks. Whence a certain one has said "Resist beginnings; all too late the cure." When ills have gathered strength, by long delay, first there comes from the mind a simple thought; then a strong imagination, afterwards delight, and the evil motion and consent and so, little by little the fiend does gain entrance, when he is not resisted in the beginning. The longer anyone has been slothful in resisting, so much the weaker he becomes, daily in himself, and the enemy, so much the stronger in him. Some suffer grievous temptations in the beginning of their conversion, others in the end and others are troubled nearly their whole life. Some are very lightly tempted, according to the wisdom and the equity of the ordinance of God who weighs man's condition and merits, and pre-ordaineth all things for the salvation of His elect. We must not, therefore, despair when we are tempted, but the more fervently pray to God to help us in every tribulation: Who, of a truth, according to the sayings of St. Paul, will make such issue with the temptation, that we are able to sustain it.

Let us then humble our souls under the hand of God in every temptation and tribulation, for the humble in spirit, He will save and exalt. In temptation and tribulations, it is proved what progress man has made; and there also is great merit, and virtue is made more manifest.

Sixth day Week 1

Imitation: Book 3, Chapter 47
That All Grievous Things Are to Be Endured For the Sake of Eternal Life
My son, be not wearied out by the labors which thou hast undertaken for My sake, nor let tribulation cast thee down ever at all; but let My promise strengthen and comfort thee under every circumstance. I am well able to reward thee, above all measure and degree. Thou shalt not long toil here, nor always be oppressed with griefs. Wait a little while, and thou shalt see a speedy end of thine evils.

Notes from my prayer journal: When St. Matthew repeats Christ’s words, “Ask and it will be given to you,” there is little emphasis on the “what” that will be given to you. He is not saying that exactly what you ask for will be given to you, even though every child in the pews, upon hearing this, is instantly asking for a million dollars, a new ipod touch, a house full of candy, the cutest girl in the world, and more. St. Monica used to rail for what she wanted. She knew that God would answer her prayers, she knew that what she was asking for was good and holy, but she did not know the time that her prayers would be answered, just that it would happen in her life time. God saw what she wanted, but saw her soul, and saw the growth that could happen, and saw how her faith could deepen, and saw how she needed to depend on Him more. He also saw St. Augustine, how much he needed to grow and learn, and sacrifice in order to make his faith his own. Yes, it is much easier to accept St. Matthew’s writing when you understand that what you need most, in believing and living the truth of these words, is trust. Jesus, I trust, that I will be home, when you want me to be. I trust that you are behind my ever second that is lived here. I trust that you are protecting those I love, and that our sadness will only draw us closer to you.

“Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find;

knock and the door will be opened to you.”

- Matthew 7:7

Soundtrack song of the day – Holy and Able, Fr. Michael Ssenfuma

Consecration to Jesus through the Immaculate Heart of Mary, Mary’s Retreat, Day 24

The Novena to the Divine Mercy, Day 6 & The Novena to St. Joseph, Day 6

Ode to Joy

2014-03-15T09:47:00.000-07:00

An Ode to Joy

What I have learned during this Lent, during this time in my personal desert, is that joy is contagious. Joy is free. Joy spreads “like a virus through the village.” Joy is a gift that you give for free, that ultimately comes back to you ten fold.

A simple smile can start this chain of joy, and I have seen this in action. I saw this at the IOM office, so many angry, tired cranky faces everywhere. I was waiting in line to receive my passport back, and the guard in uniform, with an AK-47 slung on his shoulder, was rifling through a stack trying to find mine. I could tell he was getting upset, or maybe embarrassed because he could not locate it,or maybe he even thought that I was getting upset with him. He looked up expecting to see an aggravated face, but I caught his eye and smiled and nodded my head, as if to say, “Not a problem, take your time, this is not the end of the world,” and he smiled back, and exhaled. I am sure that he gets a lot of angry cranky faces barking orders, but he won’t get that attitude from me. It is the same way in a grocery store, when the mom in front of you with two kids has the harried look on her face, and the kids are acting up, and she is shifting through her pure to find a coupon or her card, and she looks back at you, expecting to see frustration or anger, and she is embarrassed. You have two choices - add to her pain and embarrassment, or give her joy. I have gotten apologies or sad looks, and I always say, "Hey, I am in no hurry, I have 5 kids. I understand. Take your time." I have been in her shoes and I will not add to her grief.

Speaking of grief, I can do nothing here. I am at the mercy of a system I do not understand. I do not understand the different languages, and the words being shouted at me. The culture is foreign, and I stick out even more than a normal muzungo because I have an African child I am toting - who does a good job at teaching me humility and mortification in public places. The only thing that I have in common with everyone is the meaning of a smile and the desire for joy. Do I feel joyful right now? I try, but it take more effort than I have at times. Should I allow my own lack of “feeling joyful” keep me from sharing the joy of Christ with others? Of course not.

Part of my problem here is that I find joy in serving others. I love cooking for people, doing projects for people, making something that will bring a smile to someone, thanking someone for something they have done that they might have felt went unseen. If you are sick, and need a meal for your kids - call me!! Joy is obtainable by doing these little tiny things for others, with great love. For when you focus on giving and serving others, you have little time to despair, to grieve, or mourn the things in your own life. I knew this ahead of time, and asked people for prayer requests and their spiritual needs, because the only thing I can do here is pray and offer up sufferings and confusions and loneliness. It costs $50 for me to go to Mass, so I cannot go every day. It would cost me more to go to adoration like I do weekly at home. I cannot cook or do projects, or build something, or make something, so I begged people for a list of people or things to pray for. Because I knew that I would only find joy here, if I was focused on other people, and not focused on missing my family.

On top of these prayer requests, I told Linda that I am trying to focus on bringing joy. A smile can be an act of charity. I have been practicing spreading joy to people in the everyday settings I have here. Joy can be given with a smile to someone who would never expect one from you. This is easy for no person, unless we “forget what lies behind and strain forward to what lies ahead” (Philippians 3:13) Treating people above their station or lot in life gives them more than a feeling of self-respect, it elevates their spirit and provides hope to those who despair. A security guard stopped Linda at the entrance of a shopping center and flung open the door. He was shocked to see me I think, because he stepped back. "Hi, how are you?" "Uhm, very fine thank you, you are very welcome here." "Thank you so much for checking all of these cars for us. We appreciate the protection! Have a great day!" Linda laughed as we pulled away, "See Linda, he was smiling, not angry anymore. You must give people more than they expect from you, because it costs you nothing to do so, and your smile is a gift from God anyway!"

Blessed Mother Teresa always said, “A smile is the beginning of love…Peace begins with a smile. Smile 5 times a day at someone you don’t really want to smile at, at all. We can never know how much good a simple smile can do.” People came to Mother Teresa to die, they sought a final place to rest their heads, where they were treated with love and dignity. The wall in her chapel was painted with the words, “I thirst” because she understood that Christ, alive in each of us, thirsts for love and hope. The homeless and dying thirsted for salvation, for dignity, for love and for hope in their eternal salvation.

I have seen this thirst in the faces of my children, and the children in the villages here. The children here smile, because sometimes that is all that they can do, all that they can give. When my children are sad or upset or disappointed by something that happened on the court or field or in the classroom, I can only stand by them and smile for them, and reassure them that these sufferings are necessary for them to grow. I can only assure them that God is there, teaching them something valuable and important, in each event of their lives. Mike Aquilina said in the book on St. Monica, “When we smile at family members we are providing a foretaste of heaven.”

We provide for them a glimpse of what love, untainted by sin, might be like. I always asked my children, when they were little, so loved them the most. Anna was very upset when she realized that I was telling her that God loves her more than her mommy. “No mommy, you love me the most!” “Oh Banana, I wish I loved you the most. But I am not perfect, and my love is not perfect. Do I get mad at you when you do not clean your room? Do I get disappointed when you break something? God does not get mad about dumb things. He is perfect, and his love is perfect, so He loves you the most. And behind Him and Mary, and the angels and saints, you will find your mom, loving you the most that a human can love you!” I hope they always remember these little conversations that I have with them when they are little.

Our face, our faith, and our very lives should communicate the love of Christ, whether we are “feeling it” or not. Our day might have been horrible, our house might be falling apart, but the light of Christ, because of our hope and faith in our salvation, should shine out a path before us.

So, be joyful in all things, radiate Christ’s love this Lent, because the more we practice doing things with joy, no matter how much we “feel it”, the quicker it becomes a habit that brings smiles and joy back to your heart. Father Michael would say that when you smile and give joy, you are “spreading the love like peanut butter.”

Friday, My Intro to the IOM

2014-03-15T09:30:00.004-07:00

Friday, the 14^th

Another day, another migraine. This is my third day in a row, and I felt unprepared to go to the IOM at 7 AM.

People have asked about the IOM and I am not sure how to describe it. I posted the picture yesterday of it, and picture it with a ton of refugee families standing out front, in swarms. They are all carrying pieces of paper, all speaking different languages and from countries all around Uganda. They escaped their different countries to live and work in the capital of Uganda until they had enough money raised to get a visa out of Uganda to trek across African to different European countries.

So they are there and anxiously waiting, and trying to storm the gates as soon as they open. A man steps out with a list of names of people that were allowed to enter. I can see the list and Benny is number three on the list, but the guy does not look at us at all. He is going to every other family beside us, and yelling at them for not having their stuff organized, mad because families are trying to sneak in people who are not on the list, and more. At the very end, he turns to us and we tell him that we supposed to be number three, and he lets us in. Linda said he was very, very rude to the families. I know he was not nice, but I feel very sorry for him. Years of being yelled at and dealing with people who are always trying to sneak one by you can harden your heart, especially if you are not Christ centered.

We go in, but the entire long room is packed already. We have the very last seats in last the rows of chairs. And again, no AC, muggy inside, raining outside. There is no use of deodorant and the refugees are wearing layers and layers of clothing. The little refugee children are running around like crazy people. There are two moms who are at the end of the row, and this one child keeps walking down the row to see her mom. But every single time, she pinches or touches or kicks or coughs all over Benny and I. It already sounds like a TB ward in there. In fact, when I get called back to sign the preliminary statements, I can hear hacking and coughing and babies screaming. I start to get paranoid about the flu, germs, viruses from foreign countries. The whole thing was kind of funny because TB is the ONLY thing the IOM is testing Benny for and I was sure, hearing all of that through 4 doors and hallways of security, that some people were going to test positive.

Two more adoptive families walked in behind me – two separate women, each adopting two children. A third woman marches in with her 1 son and demands that she be seen, obviously an American. “Well I called and called yesterday and nobody answered, so I am here today and we need to be seen. Well what do you mean I need a birth certificate? (all of the IOM paperwork from the Embassy shows that you need a passport and a birth certificate to be seen and you need to drop them off and open a case before you even get an appointment.) Well what happens if I go get it now, can I be seen this afternoon? Can you just prick him now and I will return Monday to have it read with the paperwork?” The woman at the counter was showing her the three steps that needed to happen and I was getting angry just listening to the tone in the mom’s voice. As much as I wanted to smack the kid that kept walking by, and her snotty mom who was giving Benny and I dirty looks, I more so wanted to go up and have a word with that mom – “Look lady, you are what has driven the adoption process to be ridiculously long like this. Follow the stinking rules, treat people with joy and respect, and your life would be ten times easier.”

Instead I started holding Benny like a baby. We were up early, and had been waiting for 2 hours already and it was hot and yucky, and he was starting to turn into a pill. I pulled out my rosary and began praying a chaplet. As soon as I got towards the end, and my headache picked up again, but we were suddenly called back for the B test. And literally, all they did was draw a big black circle on his arm, prick him and then they told us to come back on Monday at 9. 2 hours of waiting for 2 minutes in a metal chair.

So, it was still pouring when we left, so we really just went home and I worked on something for Linda, while Benny took a nap. And then we went without power, so we went back to the room, and I locked the door and took a nap, while Benny destroyed the room. I woke up and took a picture of him. He had taken out the suitcases and flipped them all over. He then emptied the garbage can onto the floor, and was using it as a drum, just rocking out. It is hard to be mad about the huge mess when you knew it was coming the moment your head hit the pillow.

In fact, before laying down, I did a quick mental summary, checking off anything that could be broken or damaged while I was asleep. I had even hid my laptop bag and tablet under the chair by the door. Normally I slide them under the bed, but decided that if he were to spill a cup of water, by the bed was where he would do it. Why do I think this? Well, when I fell asleep it was 3ish, and I was in my 3^rd dress of the day. The first dress he ruined after I put his head cream on him, he decided to literally rub it off on my dress at 6:15 AM. The second dress literally came off about 10 minutes later when I was sitting on the bed putting my shoes on and he laid down the water bottle on the bed next to me, with no top on. Yes, my side of the bed was still wet when I fell asleep with my migraine 8 hours after he had done it, before the IOM.

We got dressed and headed out to dinner. You never know what a Friday night will look like at the Terrace; a dinner party, a million couples dining out, groups of girls gathering and drinking their week away. We ate quickly, and headed back to the room. I finally got to talk to my sister and wish her a late happy birthday – a facebook message on her birthday did not quite seem god enough. It was a nice way to end my night.

I did repack my bags again because Father Michael is coming into town tomorrow to sign some paperwork. I have bags and bags of stuff – mostly gifts, for people in Masaka and at his parish. I would have a lot more room in my tiny cell if I could get rid of these items that took up more than a whole suitcase. I will be very glad to have the space, for sure. I also did a pretty big pile of laundry, forgetting that I wanted to take a shower tonight. Now I have to wait until the clothes are dry before we can mess around in there too much.

Benny loves to play in the water, and he will sneak in every chance he gets and turn on the spicket. I am not sure if you have realized this or not, but all of the water in Uganda (or most of the residential usage water) comes from rain water collection tanks. The roofs have gutters that direct the flow of rain into a huge water collection jug. The water for washing dishes, using the sinks, toilets, and showers, all come from these bins. So when I say that we cannot drink the water, or that you do not want it in your eyes or mouth or in open wounds, I mean it. The water is not filtered, or purified or cleaned. It is a little better than pond water most days, and it is the temperature of the outside air, for the most part. Since it was cold and raining, the water coming out felt freezing. When it is 95 for three days, the water is much more tolerable, but this allows bacteria to fester.

So I am going to bed now and begging for God to make me a more loving person. Fill me with Your peace, and let me radiate the joy and love that I have for you!!

PS. How do you keep a child who is mentally a 2 year old from drinking the water? You cannot. Which is probably why the deworming process should be done again when I get home. No matter what I tell him, he is trying to drink the water, splashing it in his mouth, bending down and trying to drink out of the bottom spicket, and more.

Notes from my prayer journal: I needed a lot of patience today that I did not have. I kept closing my eyes at the IOM and throughout the afternoon begging God for it – “Please help me, give me just an ounce of patience so this will not be so painful.” Apparently painful was what was being asked of me, and painful was what I got, physically and emotionally. I needed to see the world and the people in it with God’s eyes. I should have felt sorry for the stressed out mom screaming at the front desk lady. I should have been praying for the stress and futures of the refugees in the waiting area instead of praying that they control their children. I missed opportunities for grace that were abundantly clear, now looking back. All I managed to do was eek out a Divine Mercy Chaplet for my prayer petitions, and for my children. The scripture passage below is VERY relevant for how I felt today, not just mostly applicable!

“So with you: Now is your time of grief, but I will see you again and you will rejoice, and no one will take away your joy.”

- John 16:22

Soundtrack song of the day – You Found Me – The Fray

Consecration to Jesus through the Immaculate Heart of Mary, Maternal Mediation, Day 23

The Novena to the Divine Mercy, Day 5 & The Novena to St. Joseph, Day 5

Thursday (no power)

2014-03-15T09:17:00.000-07:00

Thursday, the 13^th

I woke up to rain and cold, which was pretty great. I was almost wishing that I had a sheet or blanket on my bed, but not desperate enough to go fish the one out of the closet that came on the bed.

I talked to Father Michael about coming to Kampala to sign some forms that need his attention. He was agreeable, especially when I reminded him that we have some projects to work on – the Water for People project, funding his music video, finishing his letter head and website, and more. He will come up on Saturday, get the forms signed, and take a bunch of stuff back to Masaka for me in case I am not able to get back before the paperwork here is done.

I then got a text from my Angel Linda! She wrote to tell me that she filed the case for the IOM early, and that Michael would have his first appointment on Friday instead of Monday!!! Awesome. Talk about prayers working! In 1 week, I have accomplished (or rather God accomplished) 3 steps that normally take over a month to do.

I love hearing from home, but hate it to – life goes on without you, and you miss so much not being there. Anna is missing me more and more, while the boys are missing me less and less, which is probably age appropriate, but does not make it any easier.

The reason that I love St. Monica so much is because of her parenting style. She wanted to keep her children close – she strove to always be their mother, to make sure that they stayed on the path of righteousness. Some skeptics call her a stalker, but it worked, she converted one of the most coveted Doctors of the Church to Catholicism via prayers, support, and by setting an example of firm love and devotion.

Some parents I know take their keys away when the children are in college or graduate, as if to say, “I am done, you are a burden, and an adult, so be gone with you.” While other parents are like, “Come over every day, share your life with me, you are finally old enough to realize that I was right about most things, so now we can have a different relationship.” These two are completely different attitudes in parenting. I was raised more by a St. Monica, who was previously raised by a St. Monica, and I hope to retain that same attitude of family and togetherness.

The perfect example of St. Monica’s devotion in raising a great saint was how she handled St. Augustine’s many sins. For instance, he was always a wayward child, always fighting with her about the faith. She would tell him to pray and he would role his eyes, tell her that her version of God was wrong, criticize her and question everything she told him. She never had any proof of Augustine’s love for God or that he ever listened to any word that she ever said, or that he had ever even prayed up until his conversion. But she stayed close, and fought back, and said the things she felt called to say.

When Augustine came home with a mistress and a child, she only complained about the heresy he believed in because she recognized that the love for a woman and love for children can easily turn someone’s heart to God. Being a father or a mother can turn a person’s heart to prayer faster than anything, as you suddenly realize there is a higher power and that you need strength and guidance that you cannot find anywhere else. She also knew that denying her child and the person that he loves away, she cannot continue to set an example of love, and faith and forgiveness.

She invited them to live with her, she went on vacations with them, traveled with them, came to events that were important to them in order to show them that if she was THIS forgiving, then how much for forgiving could and would a merciful God be? She never approved, and she spoke her mind against the actions, but once she said her piece, she was done. She knew that the only way to bring Christ’s love to them, was to stay close, and set the example of a forgiving God, she knew that this was the way to win the souls of the ones she loved for God. Did that stop her from tugging at God’s ear and yelling and crying and raging against his lack of instant conversion? No. She never gave up praying to God and telling Him exactly how she felt about the situation and begging Him to answer her prayers.

I know that my mom does this. She, and her sister Jennifer, are replicas of St. Monica today. My mom prays and weeps and feels our pains. She sits at the table with her daily prayers from her pieta, laminated for protection against her constant use and dangling on a key chain. I could walk in at any time, but especially when the babies are all asleep, and she would be flipping, praying and flipping, and praying some more. She keeps us close, talks to us every day, emails my children reminders of how much they are loved. She feeds and clothes and nurtures my nieces and nephews, offering reprieve to my sister in times of illness and stress.

Like St. Monica, she mothered all of our friends, making them each feel invited and welcomed, and cherished. Her mother did the exact same thing for her. I still hear stories of what it was like being an honorary Johnson family member from men and women in their sixties down to their forties. That is the type of mom I want to be. I want my house to be full, I want to know my children’s friends, and I want them to be influenced in the best possible way by my family.

And also like St. Monica, my mom has a very calm and prayerful way of reprimanding us. Where St. Monica would use wisely timed conversations, graced with His blessing, my mom writes letters full of insight, concern, blessing, prayers, and yes of course, admonishments. They are her well thought out tool of explaining what she needs to address – knowing perfectly well that her daughters are prone to hearing things that are not said, and missing the things that ARE said. St. Augustine said that his mother’s admonishments were one of the very best things that his mother did.

“We will hear it said, “Let our elders prescribe what we should do and let them pray for us to do it. But do not let them admonish or correct us if we fail to do it.” No, let all these things be done, since the Apostles, the teachers of the churches, did them all. They prescribed what should be done, and they admonished if things did not get done, and they prayed that everything might then get done. The Apostle prescribes when he says, “Let all that you do be done in love” (1 Cor 16:14)…This is the point: in the elders precepts, learn what you ought to have; in their admonitions, learn that it is your own fault that you don’t have it; in their prayers, learn where you may receive what you wish to have!” (Admonition & Grace 3)

Parents in the domestic church setting instill the message of Christ, His love, and His devotion by providing a living example of Christ and the Church daily. St. Monica, by keeping her children close, and setting and living the example 24-7 of God’s constancy, brought blessings and the light of Christ into her children’s lives. This constancy and our prayers cause us to grow in humility, love, courage, prayer, charity and the rest of the virtues, as we do, so too will our children. She recognized that one of the best things she could provide her children was a truly Christian parent, to light and guide their path to salvation.

Prayer journal: This prayer was in the St. Monica book that I just finished and I wanted to share it.

Cast a loving look, O Monica, on the many Christian parents who are now fulfilling on earth the hard but noble mission that as once your own. Their children are also lifeless with the death of sin, and they would restore them to true life by the power of parental love. They turn to you, O Monica, whose prayers and tears were once so effective and fruitful. Take their cause in hand. Maintain their courage. Teach them to hope. Intercede for them before the throne of the Almighty. We ask this, as we ask all things, through Our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

“These things I have spoken to you, that in Me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulations; but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world.”

- John 16:33

Soundtrack song of the day – Joy Formidable - Whirring

Consecration to Jesus through the Immaculate Heart of Mary, Mary’s gift of mercy, Day 22

The Novena to the Divine Mercy, Day 4 & The Novena to St. Joseph, Day 4

Wednesday

2014-03-13T01:31:00.000-07:00

Wednesday, 12th

So the rain came, and when it comes, it comes in sheets with fierce wind and thunder and lightning. And it sounds a lot stronger than it is because the rain is pelting the zinc metal sheets or hard ceramic tiles that make up most people’s roofs. I saw people wearing scarves and jackets, like it was freezing, because it dropped to the mid 80’s.

Who got a passoort? Yep, this guy!

People here at 882 were trying to find socks, and then wondered if they had even brought shoes to wear with socks. It was amusing – both the weather and the people trying to survive in it.

One disappointing aspect to the rain, and probably the only one, was that Benny could not go play outside. Well, we played in the morning, but after his nap, he kept grabbing the ball and hitting the door, and pointing at me.

To kill time, Benny watched Barney about 5 times. He gets to excited – he sings, dances, claps, yells, like an 18 month old would bounce around in front of a tv, so excited to see something so colorful and excited. I kept working away trying to get something done for Fr. Michael, and Benny giggled his excitement, letting it be known to the whole 882 building that he discovered something new.

As soon as the rain stopped, I got a call from Linda, “I will be at your place in 3 minutes, let’s go get your passport!” I was so excited. The whole way there, Linda kept warning me, “It might not be done, they might be wrong, there might be a problem.” And the list of problems was extensive. There could have been an error with the birth date, or the order that the name was in on the passport vs. the birth certificate. There could be a problem with the wrong picture being on there, or the passport itself being in backwards order. The city of his birth could be wrong, or they could have put the county instead of the city that he was born in – it had to be identical to the long birth certificate.

And after waiting about 30 minutes in a different tent, surrounded by anxious people waiting for the same thing I was, I saw Rhita sneak in, wait five minutes, sneak out and then saunter off. Another 10 minutes went by, and suddenly Rhita reappeared and said that we had to go, looking rather disappointed. “Oh no Rhita, I will wait as long as I have to wait, it is fine.” “We need to go now,” she said and as I exited the tent, she lifted his passport out of a huge brown envelope. “Do not be too excited, there could be many problems with it, let us go back to the car.” So we ran across the 5 lines of traffic, darting around boda bodas and taxis and hopped in Linda’s van. We pulled out the long birth certificate, said a prayer, and started comparing.

Nope, it was perfect. Really, really perfect. I got on my tablet and emailed the embassy requesting a case number. They wrote back and asked for the name and birth date on the passport, so I sent that. They asked me to confirm the order of the name and birth date, and since I do not understand Lugandan, I sent them a picture of the BC and the passport so they would in fact have the order that they wanted.

So I sit and diligently and wait for a case number from the Embassy. Linda is scanning my ruling and my medical forms and sending them to Alabama, and then she will run to the IOM and show them the passport and give them a copy. I called Father and tried to arrange a trip to Masaka, but no such luck. I have to be back Monday morning, and the drive is about 3 hours from him to me, and Sundays are obviously the most important day for a priest, so it did not work out. It might work out for me to go back again on Wednesday though, after they read his TB. Maybe for the weekend, and who knows after that.

My Alabama contact called and asked for an update. I told her about the passport, and she said she was so excited for me, and that they were just discussing my case and that they did not want to jinx anything, but that it all sounded great. The only time I believe in jinxing something is when Notre Dame is playing. God gives us what we need, when He wants, and that is it. God allows us to make our own decisions, He allows us to fail when we need to learn, and that is all. We pray, ask His guidance, give Him our all, and our best efforts, and He meets us where we are at. She asked what she could pray for, and I gave the only answer that would make sense, “Everything!”

I was so excited about the news of the passport, and I really wanted to call someone to tell them. I tried calling Paul a half dozen times. I text, sent facebook messages, and more. And it is in times like these that I realize that I am truly alone here, living in a little bubble that people read about, and sometimes I can hear voices through the bubble, but that I am living this whole experience alone – yet totally dependent on prayers from the outside world, and the prayers and thanksgiving that I offer up after little miracles like the one today. The feeling, and the odd realization, are both completely foreign to me. I have never been alone – ever. And I am not alone really, there is a very loud 4 year old running around the room, but he too is in his own little bubble. However, it is in the peace and silence that we found God and this experience has afforded me that right and opportunity.

I find myself remembering a prayer that I said a few years ago, “Lord, you tell me that I will find you in the silence, but I am a mom of 5 children, there will never be silence when I need it. They are young and impressionable and I need to find you now so that I do not screw them up, so that I stay sane and focused on the right things. What do I need to do to find you in the silence?!?” Watch what you pray for, you might end up in Africa, by yourself, adopting a child J

I feel totally blessed because I know that if it weren’t for all of the prayers, I would not be receiving these blessings, and I thank each of you for it, and I thank my grandparents, and Paul’s grandparents, who have gone on before us, and who are showering their love and prayers and blessings down upon us.

Benny gets his name from Paul’s grandfather, who came over from Calabria, Italy. Benny was his name, and he was a saint on earth – a hard worker, loving and committed, graceful and kind, much like my own grandfathers. His name was Benny, not Benito or Benjamin, or Benedict, just Benny. As much as I wanted to name him Benedict Michael Francis after two Popes and my favorite angel, I decided to keep the name Benny Michael Francis – 1 saint, an angel, and a Pope. I imagine I will need them all for strength during the rest of my trip, and our time adjusting at home.

To close out my day, my friend, the New Zealand Red Cross Muzungo Conversationalist bid me farewell. He said that he hopes, that in 3 weeks when he returns, that he will not see me, and we wished each other many blessings, and safe travels. He has three children, the oldest a bit younger than me, and a great deal of wisdom about travel, governments, foreign aid and more. He was the first person to speak to me, like have a real conversation with me, after 2 weeks of face to face silence. I have no one to look forward to seeing at dinner every night, and I am sure that Benny will miss me being distracted. God is providing more time for pondering His word I imagine.

Prayer journal: He is my anchor. As excited as I was about the passport, I know that I am not close to the end. There is so much that can happen, and things still left to be done. I cannot map out in my mind what the next few weeks hold, as much as I know the process. This worries me. Often times, in prayer, I see a picture unfold of what something should look like, or how things will go. None of this happens regarding the end of my trip, the next few weeks, the journey home. I know that He is the anchor to my being, the lover of my soul. I always tell my children that I am the lover of their souls. “Oh, I adore you, I love your soul. Who is the lover of your soul? – Mommy!” I do a bad job at a lot of things, but the one thing that I should be best at is loving the soul of my children, wanting to protect it, nurture its faith, and guide it to heaven. I get caught up in daily life, and often forget to put this above all things – my focus has been reinforced.

“God did this so that, by two unchangeable things in which it is impossible for God to lie, we who have fled to take hold of the hope offered to us may be greatly encouraged. We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure. It enters the inner sanctuary behind the curtain, where Jesus, who went before us, has entered on our behalf. He has become a high priest forever, in the order of Melchizedek.”

- Hebrews 6:18-20

Soundtrack song of the day – Tighten Up – Black Keys

Consecration to Jesus through the Immaculate Heart of Mary, Be the One (with Mary), Day 21

The Novena to the Divine Mercy, Day 3 & The Novena to St. Joseph, Day 3

Tuesday, the 11th

2014-03-13T01:12:00.000-07:00

Tuesday

The IOM, much less crowded than the embassy or passport office

No rain yet. I really thought it would come, and when you do not have much to look forward to, this can be a big thing. It was dark and gray and windy and even a little cooler than normal, but no rain.

Benny and I just really hung around the room. People kept telling me that Benny is cold, and will get sick outside, and much to his dismay, I listened and would not let him play outside.

Around noon, Linda called to tell me that she was stopping by to get my stuff to open a file with the IOM. I was super excited because that meant that she really believed that my passport file would be ready soon. When she got here, she offered to drop me off at the Acacia Mall while she ran to the museum and checked emails and such. I figured, “Hey, what is the worst that can happen,” and off we all went.

The IOM is a building like all the others, gray, security guards, barbed wire, gates, etc. She ran in with the work, and came back with a physical appointment for Michael for Monday. We would be able to go only if the passport was in hand by Friday, with a copy of it to them by Friday at 2.

From there, we pulled up to the mall, and Benny and I went through security and began our journey. The mall is huge and beautiful and almost empty. There is a movie theater, and unfinished kids zone, a sparsley populated food court, and a handful of open stores. The largest store is the two story mini super-Walmart type store – grocery items, household items, small electronics and appliances. At this crazy store, there were carts shaped like cars. I let Benny climb in, which was an error on my part. I should have put him in a regular cart. He was of course fine throughout the store, as I picked up more peanut butter, tea, and oranges. However, I realized my mistake when it was time to take him out.

He started kicking and screaming and sobbing. Ugh. All of the Indian moms started in, “Oh, just beat him. What an ugly child, blah blah.” I wanted to smack his rear and theirs. I pulled him out of the store and tried to get him calmed down enough to eat at the Cafesserie while we waited for Linda. I figured it was the perfect spot because it had an outside eating patio, so when she pulled up, I could see her and run out. Benny was very un-agreeable to the whole situation, but it seemed to work out ok. It was very euro-muzingo, not an American in the gigantic lot. They wore all capri/blouse sets or dress suits, lots of fashion jewelry and sandals – no blonds in the whole bunch. It was decently priced (way more expensive than what I normally eat) but at least nobody stared.

The power has gone out like 6 times today, and I have been diligently working on something for my adoption agency – updating their travel packet that was way out dated and out of order. I have been keeping track of costs, amenities, shopping options, the order of the process and more, and then adding it or subtracting the info, from their master packet they gave me, which has proved to be almost entirely useless.

So what hasn’t been useless? The Barney movies and Dumbo that I downloaded to my tablet for Benny. I got a Shawn the Sheep one, but he could not have been more bored (so happy) so Barney and Disney movies help me with music stimulation which is what he responds to the most. In fact, I played him about 5 dozen songs, and the ones he liked the most were from LeCrae’s “Church Clothes” album, and anything by Matt and Kim. He was screaming and jumping up and down on the bed he liked LeCrae soooo much. My Michael will be happy about this.

We went to bed late because the power kept going on and off and we were losing track of time. I am praying for something interesting to happen tomorrow. I fell asleep thinking about the rat and wondering if it was in the room. I prayed for my beautiful sister on her birthday, that life blesses her with peace, and wisdom, and love. I contemplated St. Monica’s wisdom and her strength to be so soley focused on her mission.

Prayer journal: My mind wanders. I cannot seem to focus on just 1 thing, ever. If I focus on God, I start asking Him questions, wondering about certain saints, and God’s Will, and then I start praying profusely for my dear sweet children, and the challenges they will face, and for the strength of their faith and their wisdom. Then my mind turned to someone back home who I am so angry at for unjustly persecuting me. I feel very sorry for her, because the truth will come to light, and she will look ridiculous. I asked the Lord to change my heart towards her.

“Yes, if you forgive others their failings, your heavenly Father will forgive you yours; but if you do not forgive others, your Father will not forgive your failings either.”

- Matthew 5

Soundtrack song of the day – Repentance - LeCrae

Consecration to Jesus through the Immaculate Heart of Mary, A Consecration Covenant, Day 20

The Novena to the Divine Mercy, Day 2 & The Novena to St. Joseph, Day 2

Monday, 10th

2014-03-13T01:10:00.002-07:00

Monday, the 10th

Today was slow and long. The weather has been so dry and clinging to around 90. My antibiotics helped me to burn on my back within about 20 minutes of playing soccer this morning, a bright red flash above my shirt line and on me feet.

Potty training was good sometimes, and miserable at others. If I do not go into the bathroom with him, he just pees all over the wall, or floor or himself. If I follow him in, then he hops right up, and does his business where it belongs.

I cleaned up the room, and no rats – score one for me. One of the Canadian girls did say that she has seen a rat 3 different times running from the front of the house to the back, but that it always ran out. Apparently, on her side of the building there are screens on the windows, so although their window glass is broken like mine, they do have something to keep rats out.

I paid for a laundry service for my outer clothes (which is how they differentiate – inner and outer) and they were done within a few hours. The more I give her, the happier she is, so I will make it a habit of maybe twice a week, or every few days. I feel horrible not doing it myself, when I can, but she probably depends on the laundry money from guests. I did receive them back very damp, and am hoping that if I just hang them all over the room, they will dry before nightfall to avoid mosquitoes.

I think I like Benny’s naptime the best, because no matter how hard or difficult our mornings might be, at nap time, he wants my arm firmly wrapped around him, with my palm n his stomach. It is a sweet little gesture, but kind of his way (and mine) of knowing that even though this can be wicked hard, I am not going anywhere.

Benny really likes the waiters here. He hops out of his seat when they are around and goes and watches them work. It is not a good habit, but do I really want to fight with him about it. Besides, it looks nothing like a restaurant in America. It looks more like someone’s front porch, done up in a tropical beach hut theme, a few octagonal tables, 4 chairs per table, and a tiki bar where they serve tropical drinks and coffee items (if they have power).

The problem with it, really, is that he is becoming attached to them, and that is not particularly healthy. Sometimes, Janet can get Michael to eat better than I can – she kind of flirts with him, and bats her eyes and begs. When Noel comes over to play soccer – Benny points to me and jabbers and points to the chair – like “Hey you, I do not need you anymore, I found a guy to play with – sit down where you belong.” Which is fine too, I welcome the reprieve from standing and chasing a ball up and down hill for 3 hours a day, but in a few weeks, I will be removing Benny from here and these people, and this ‘temporary home’ to go to his new home, and it will have been his 7^th home since he has been alive.

I have given a great deal of thought to just moving to a different hostel in Kampala for a few weeks, break some ties, see someplace new, kill the monotony, but I am not sure I can. I know this place now, we have a routine. We are on Linda’s way home and to the office. The people are nice to Benny, and although I barely understand them, I am comfortable. Also, a lot of hostels do not have restaurants attached to them, so I would have the daily added expense of a driver in order to eat a meal.

So, where I see it as a huge headache to be teaching Benny how to eat surrounded by different people at every meal, it saves me about 80,00UGX to not have to leave for every meal….of course, we have tried almost every single dish offered at this place, and I have not loved any of them. Benny is getting tired of the food too. Where he used to eat matoke and toast with peanut butter, and bowls of fruit, he now refuses it all. He used to eat tomatoes and potatoes and now he throws fits when he sees them. I started ordering him eggs at breakfast this morning, which he seems to like, but who knows for how long. For a few days, he liked the Mojo Clif bars, but not today – he crumbled it into a million pieces all over the bed. Again, he is just trying to figure out his limits and boundaries, how I will react, and genuinely just discovering different types of foods.

Father Michel had said that he was concerned because in the village, you eat the same thing every single day, every single meal, and that their bodies lack so many vitamins and nutrients. Not only that, but you couple it with low immune systems, exposure to constant infection, mosquito bites, parasites, and unclean water, and your body is a breeding ground for everything under the sun. Benny has never had a wide pyramid diet, although he normally eat everything pretty well. He has a dream paleo diet – mostly fruits, veggies – but those are limited to mango and bananas, and then tomatoes, corn and potatoes. No variety, nothing real rich in iron, no fatty acids, nothing dark green. The meat of choice, if they get any, is chicken.

I brought supplements, and you couple those with the vitamins, deworming meds, bottled water, new foods, antibiotics for his intestinal bug, and you have a whole mess of new stuff upsetting his body – which is probably why he is being picky.

I prayed for a call to pick up his passport would come at any second. I prayed for rain, and upon looking at the Tuesday’s forecast, I think they were answered. I started the novena to St. Joseph for my husband – his strength, confidence, security, attitude. I did the single parent thing while living in California with the children when he was in Alabama buying the house. I did the SP thing while he was working all day, and going to school all night for years and years – although I always knew that he would eventually come home, but only to do homework, eat and sleep. It is hard and lonely. At least all of the kids are in school all day, and have activities at night that keep them out of the house. St. Joseph, I know, will be a huge aid to his soul.

Notes from my prayer journal: Today, I tried to focus on patience – patience with the people that work where I live, patience for me teaching Benny new things, patience for Benny who is a typical 2 year old – rebellious, wondering, wandering, learning new things, trying to obey. I find the more I focus on praying for my children and my husband, the happier I am, like I am still effecting their lives even though physically I am not present. I pray for all of the people back home, whose petitions I keep close to my heart. I know that everything I go through, could and bad, can be gifts to them.

“As for God, His way is perfect, the word of the Lord is flawless, He is a shield for all who take refuge in Him.”

- Psalm 18:30

Soundtrack song of the day – All I Want is You – U2 (A throw back to Reality Bites)

Consecration to Jesus through the Immaculate Heart of Mary, Heart Pondering Prayer, Day 19

The Novena to the Divine Mercy, Day 1 & The Novena to St. Joseph, Day 1

my mothering

2014-03-10T08:10:00.003-07:00

My motherhood

People always ask, especially since we are adopting, how I became the mom of such a large family. I smile and say that I am blessed, that life is crazy, that I never would have guessed it, and more. That is all definitely the truth.

I never really wanted to be a mother. I had always said that I wanted to be a missionary. My grandmother’s good friend Louise was visiting and asked me about colleges, and what I wanted to do with my life, and I told her that I would like to be a nun, and she scoffed – laughed really. "Oh Allison, you will be a nun as surely as I am one, sitting here right now."

I thought that the life of prayer was beautiful, the solitude inviting, the relationship with Christ so much easier to attain when you have little to distract you. I was jealous of all of the teenagers going on mission trips, the ones who had friends who helped them with their faith lives. I sat and listened to John Paul II as he spoke out to the youth in Colorado, angry that I was not there, and jealous of everyone who was. I watched videos my dad brought home of St. Catherine Laboure, and on Sister Faustina, and desired nothing more to have Jesus speak to my heart.

More than that, I wanted God to make my path to sanctity quite clear for me. Surely, if I was locked away in a chapel for days and days, Christ would speak to me. Our Blessed Mother might just reach her hand down, and take my face in her hands, and grant me a vision of what I was to be doing. When people from my family go to Medjugorje, I beg God for the funds and the time. When they take retreats, I wish for an open schedule. When they take pilgrimages through Rome, my heart aches to be there with them. But, there has always been a piece of me that is full of fear.

I would sit in a common room and discuss becoming a nun with women from Regnum Christi and they were very kind, although I am sure that they knew right away that I was not a good fit. I was every bit as loud and they were quiet, every bit as joking as they were serious and humble. What I did know was that I loved to serve people, so being a missionary made sense. I remember in high school filling out missionary applications by the dozens. They would lay on the floor, completely filled out, but I saw how much money I needed to take such trips, and do such work, I almost fainted. There had to be a cheaper, easier way. Maybe if I got my degree, and got a job, and was older, it would be easier to become a missionary.

Instead, I fell in love. And it is awfully hard to be a missionary when you have a husband, and children, no matter what your degree is in, or how old you are, or how much money you do not have. 10 years after Sweet Louise told me that I surely would NOT be a nun, I looked back and prayed forgiveness for the ugliness I felt towards her after she said that, after all, she was exactly correct, although maybe not for the right reasons.

I always wanted to be a nun because I could be loyal to God, and I knew that He would be loyal to me. I knew that He would never leave me or abandon me, and that I could trust Him. I felt guilty about marrying someone because I am so imperfect, I feel so bad for my spouse, because someone that I love deserves a love that is perfect, forgiving, steadfast – none of the qualities I would use to describe myself.

Someone asked me, when I was talking about being a missionary in college, “Well, what about having children?” The thought made me laugh, “Children? I will have whatever children are in the village who are in need of love. Children, I am the oldest of 6 kids and my mother did day care in our house for as long as I can remember. I do not need to have children, I have seen enough being raised by my mother to know that I am not cut out for that.”

Again, there was a fear there. I have seen what children can do to a parent. I was just a child a blink ago. We are painful, messy. We break things, forget things, sneak things. We spend a great deal of our lives thinking that we know better, until it is too late to turn back. And suddenly we are parents, and then we spend the rest of our lives in a filial relationship with our parents, apologizing for not, in fact, knowing better, and trying o teach our children the same lessons. And as much time as I spent talking to my future husband about having children, I spent as much time talking to St. Therese about how I wanted to join her.

During my last novena prayed at Franciscan University of Steubenville, I prayed to St. Therese, for her to help open my eyes to the will of God in my life. With a year, I had a degree, a husband, a son, a job in another state, and an apartment close to my parents home 3,000 miles from where my adulthood had begun. I found myself in shock, like I suddenly woke up in someone else’s life. The faith life I had grown used to was on a campus that sat on the top of a hill, under an iron cross. It was not easy to pray, or focus on God, or find peace. I found myself in a situation that I never dreamed would be mine. I was suddenly a mom and a wife, and I felt completely unprepared.

How did my mom do this?!? She had 6 kids, and I was failing at having 1. The peace that I had always desired seemed so completely unobtainable. I felt like this was thrust upon me. Wait, wait, wait. Hold up St. Therese. Hello?!? I wanted to be a missionary. And every time I talked to people, they would smile a sympathetic smile and say, “Oh, but you are feeding the hungry, and clothing the naked, and making sacrifices.” When I said missionary, I MEANT to other peoples’ families and children, in foreign countries, with nobody to report to but my Mother Superior and God, Himself. I found myself terrified.

When I Really Became A Mom

One night, I lay in bed, holding my second sweet child, with my first at my side, and we were cuddled up like a cocoon, and I stroked Kolbe’s cheek and I rubbed Michael’s back and looked in Michael’s eyes and admitted the truth. I did not want to be a mom because I would fail, but they would not understand this, so I talked to them and the ceiling.

“I am scared. You deserve better than me. You deserve a perfect woman, a beautiful woman, a strong woman. You deserve someone who knows how to protect you, a mom that knows how to love you more than anything in this world. You need a mom who knows the path to holiness, a mom who is the perfect balance of love and discipline. You deserve someone who will always be there, who knows how to sacrifice, who knows how to love diligently, who forgives your failings, and is there for every tear. Someone who encourages without judgment, who guides without bias. Dear Blessed Mother, please take my children and be their mother because I will fail.”

And suddenly, being a mom was not something I feared. Once I admitted that I was afraid, and that I needed help, and that I knew I could not do it on my own, my heart began to heal. And once Our Lady started filling in the gaps in my soul, I began to find peace.

And in that peace, I heard quite clearly, “Your mission is to bring these souls to me.”

Wait, my job is not to make sure that they are awesome athletes, that they get good grades, that they are popular, and that they look wicked cute all of the time?!? Preposterous!?! Am I not supposed to supply the greatest car, house and vacations of all time, teach them everything they need to know about farming, and money, and music, and computers, and bend to their every selfish whim?!? I want to give them the things I do not have, shower them with rewards, help them to live their lives without pain. I am so sarcastic - pray for me about this!)

When you were a child, you thought as a child. But when you grow up, I expect you to take on the things of an adult, and that means being in charge of the flock I give you. It means being an oak among saplings, a compass in rough seas, a map that points your children from this fallen creation to my heavenly resting place. In your sufferings and in your need-you find me, so I will never let your cup be full, your wallet be fat, your house be perfect.

Oh no, you have it all wrong. I am selfish. I like order, I like action, I love the beach. I crave gardening and being dirty but only because I want to give life and order to things and make things pretty and fruitful. I scream when I see spiders, I am horrible at maintaining inner peace, I had wicked ADD and if I am failing at getting to heaven, and at seeing you in all things and in all people then what makes you think that I can DO THIS.

Have patience, never stop trying. Give me 100 % of your efforts, with 100% of the gifts I have given you, and I will meet you where you fail.

Wait, fail?!? See, you are setting me up to fail.

Everyone fails on earth. It is only when you fail that you need me. It is only when you are broken and little and dependent that you come to me. That is when you recognize that you are weak and in need of saving.

If I tell you now that I am weak and miserable, will you promise to not let me fail? How can I fail more than this?

You will fail more, and your pain will be more, and your sufferings will multiply before you are finished on this earth. How will you grow and learn from mistakes that you do not make? How will you stretch beyond your boundaries if you never meet one? How can you teach your children about living, if you are never truly alive in Me?

Why punish my children for sins they did not commit?

I am giving them a mother, not a punishment!

Oh no, I am a punishment. I just told you all of the reasons why I am not qualified for this tremendous task. Weak and vain. Hard and selfish. I lack all 10 of Our Lady’s Virtues; humility, lively faith, obedience, constant mental prayer, mortification in all things, purity, charity, patience, sweetness and wisdom. SHE was the pinnacle of motherhood!! My children are beautiful and deserve the best, and I cannot give that to them. This is why I did not want to marry, because my husband has a sweet, sweet soul. He is patient and loving and steadfast. My busy nature, my desire to give everything to everybody, my taking on of 10 million projects at 1 time, and all my craziness will break him down and destroy his beautiful nature.

Your children will refine your desires. You must be open to the changes they demand of you. They teach you to sacrifice, they demand order. I call it the gift of life, because you will give your life to them, every second of every day – teaching them by your words, but more importantly by your actions. You must try to love them without fail, though you will. When you do this, they hand you the gift of your sanctity. They teach you patience, joy, humility, prayer, charity, mortification. They can make you a great saint if you take your vocation seriously. As a parent, your vocation is that of every vocation – sacrifice, love and lead others to Me. I hold you responsible for the souls of those in your care. You must give love to receive, sacrifice to grow, exhibit to teach. You must BEWARE though, the more you fight against the growth they require, the more you will hate your role and resent your children, hurting them and damaging them beyond what any human can repair, and if they do not find me, then they will seek healing through any means necessary.

Oh please, I cannot do this.

You have already begun

I do not want to fail, they deserve better.

You will give your best, and where you fail, through your prayer and sacrifice, I will fill.

Please, please, please, take this cup from me, I can find another to take my place – someone who will love them better, be kinder to my sweet husband, meet everyone's needs.

Teach your children how to come to me. Teach them where to find me. Show them the meaning of sacrifice, and the value of it. Show them how to give without expectation of return. Show them that all love and joy is rooted in me. Your vocation is complete upon your death, but the lessons that you teach through the example of your love can remain alive forever.

My heart breaks. I will try to accept this challenge, and I will beg forgiveness of my children for not being perfect. I will never stop asking for guidance, I will never stop struggling to deepen my faith. I will never ever be enough for them, and you leave me no option but to resign myself to this.

No, you need to embrace this. You must use every gift that I have bestowed upon you. You need to challenge the images you have of yourself. You need to see me in all things, and you need to never ever lose hope.

Why?

Because your mom did not lose hope in you, her hope still shines – just as her mother’s did for her. Your children and your husband need to see hope alive in you. You need to be a light of hope to those I have put in your path. Accept that failing is inevitable, but that the growth that comes from it is strength to your sword. Be at peace, and call upon me in all things.

Oh no. If I really believe that conversation, that I seemingly had with the air, Michael and Kolbe, then I have my work cut out for me. And I feel as guilty as ever being in Africa right now, relaying this to all of you, as it appears that I have abandon them for Lord knows how long. I have put undue stresses upon my husband, financially, emotionally, physically. I have asked him to play my role and his, with a handful of beautiful friends to watch over them and fill in where they are needed.

I went from being too scared to be a mom to bringing in another child that had no mom. I took a small house and made it smaller, a small bank account and made it thinner, all in hopes that I really heard God right. I pray that this inner peace, even though I am sorely lacking happiness, is from God, and not a mask held firmly in place by the devil. I pray that these good deeds, that we all know will be punished by the devil, will not be too painful for my children, and they fall upon my shoulders and not theirs.

If I really believe what I heard and felt, then I must continue to mimic the efforts of my mother, whose light has touched thousands of lives, whose love seems to be ever enduring, and whose patience with her children has no earthly basis for its provision. I must continue to daily consecrate my life to Christ, asking my Blessed Mother to take my failures to God, and ask her to help my pathetic efforts to bear fruit. And I must do this all daily, for the greater glory of God.

Here is my prayer for mothers everywhere; that we all see Christ’s face in the hearts of our children, that the difficult sacrifices that we make daily are accepted and made worthy of the souls we guide and protect, and that our labors do not go to waste, as Our Lady strengthens our efforts with her perfect love. Amen.

Sunday, the 10th

2014-03-10T01:49:00.001-07:00

So I tried very hard to be sweet and loving and patient today, but I feel like I am surrounded by criminals. I called Linda’s driver, and was charged $40 US to be driven to Mass, and it is like a 4 minute drive max- the weird part is that it was 45,000 UGX there and 55,000 UGX back. Drivers often make it a 5,000 increment knowing that nobody can get 5,000 marks, so then we have to round up – so I got taken twice, because of course I did not get change while I was in Mass. I sent a text to Linda and asked her if it was normal for the rate to be so high, and to be different depending on the direction, and she said no and that she would call him. I just said whatever, as long as I never receive him as a driver again, and if she warns the other drivers not to cheat me, then I should be fine. The passport office was 3 times further, and the rate was 20,000 there.

Then I noticed that if I order drinks during the day, I do not get a receipt, even though I pay the guy for them. However, at night, he has been double charging me for what I had already paid for, except I cannot prove it because I have no receipt. I thought it was a genuine mistake yesterday, so I did not say anything, but when it happened today, I was gracious, but wanted to punch him in the face. NEVER again. He is very nice to Michael and very kind to him, kicking the ball with him for a bit, but I much prefer tipping him than being lied to and cheated.

Benny and I had kind of a rough day. I had to shave his head because he had 6 spots of ring worm when I got him, and the doctor said the medicine would not work if he had any hair on his head. I had been waiting for Linda to go out on Saturday, but that never happened, so I had to finish the matter myself. It was a very slow process (and my first straight bald shave) but it worked, and I have been lotion-ing up his bald shiny head. I was talking to the Red Cross worker from New Zealand, that has been staying here while he waits for his house to be ready, and he shaves his head every morning as well. He told me that I did a fine job, and any old razor and cream will work, and to keep up the good work. He is very interesting to talk to, great accent, crazy stories from living in like 5 different places all over the world for his work.

And if I was not fighting with Michael over shaving his head, then I was fighting with him over potty training. He has become bored with where we are at and what we are doing, and I do not blame him. However, during the de-worming process, I figured that I might as well potty train. Have you ever changed the diaper of a 4 year old that is in the midst of the deworming process?!? Good gracious. This is why we potty train much earlier than 4. The first few times, I would say, “Let’s take your diaper off and go potty,” and he would totally comply. By today, he was trying to sit on the toilet with his pants on, took his pants off and peed in the corner of the shower, and even more fun. Let me remind you that the shower is in the toilet stall, and the shower drain is behind the toilet, so the WHOLE floor was covered in pee. I could not even drag him out without walking through it. I get it kiddo – rebel where you can but this is not any fun for me either - I think it was pay back for me not letting him run through the baby shower in the backyard last night.

I finally had enough electricity today to get Dumbo downloaded, and I sat him on the bed and let him watch that before his nap. From everything I have been told, that was his first movie, ever. Yay, that was my son Michael’s first movie too. Michael loved it. After a long nap, I got him up about an hour before Mass because he wakes up very slowly. After he was redressed, we were on our way to Mass.

Father had told me last week to go to Christ the King church, and that there were a few Masses in English on Sunday. He also had told me that it was a charismatic church, so I was not shocked by the singing and dancing (it would be a evening Mass at Franciscan on speed). We sat in the back, because I wanted to have an escape route if necessary, and Benny watched, wide eyed. When Mass began, there were three of us in the pew. By the end of Mass, there were 9 of us in a pew that comfortably fit 6. Michael knelt in front of me because there was not enough for both of us too. I noticed immediately how comfortable Ugandans are sitting on each other’s laps; arms, legs, knees, touching and overlapping. Me? Not so used to it. And because I was not shouting and dancing, people looked at me like I was nuts. I thought I did a good job of helping Benny move his arms back and forth and do the other arm motions, but it might have been too obvious that I had no idea what was going on.

What I found the most interesting about the Mass would be the homily for this Sunday – the cultural relativity. They say that you can learn a lot about the audience, based on what or how messages are delivered. Today’s message was about turning away from sin, and I learned 4 very important things.

1. Do not go to the voodoo witch doctor for medicine or for help with your love life. They are satan worshipers. And have you not seen these people – they look and smell disgusting. If their god is not great enough to make them look and smell nice, then what makes you think that they can help you with your illness or your looks or your love life? They will say, “Have sex with me and your love life will improve, but you will walk away with AIDs, with death filling you, and you will surely pass it on to the person you love – some help. They will say ‘drink this’ and you will be beautiful, but why has it not worked for them?”

2. If you are married, and then you move up the career ladder, and then suddenly you decide that your wife does not meet the needs you feel are important because of your new status, and you marry again, then surely your addiction has clouded your judgment. A smart man knows that he will have too much trouble with 1 wife, let alone 2 or 3 or 4. Have you ever met a happy man that has 3 wives? No amount of money you could make would keep you and three wives and 3 homes and 3 sets of children happy. Ha ha, men in this crowd are shaking their heads, they know it is true, which is why they escape to Mass on Sunday night – time for peace and quiet away from them all.

3. Women, if you would keep yourselves covered, and act like you have some respect for yourself, then men would be interested in you. But satan whispers, show them the whole package, so you wear next to nothing, showing everything, and if you do not got it, then men mock you, and if you do got it, men don’t need to court you because you have already shown them what they want to see. Do yourself a favor, and make men curious, make them interested in what MIGHT be under your clothes, and then you will get and keep a man longer, who has better character. An unmarried, good looking young man has been given things far to easily, so why should he marry? His sees this and that flaunted all over town, and women are easily giving him what he wants, so why should he ever commit. Change men by changing your standards and priorities women. I wish American women would hear this more.

4. “If you read stories about 20 year old men having sex with 70 year old women, you know the cause is drugs. If you hear stories about people with holes in them and their blood missing, you know the cause is drugs. If you hear that men are marrying 3 times, then you know that he is on drugs. People on drugs are addicted to the devil – they lose their beautiful wives, their nice homes, their happy children because they like to hit the bottle, and smoke the weed and then they lose their souls. What 20 year old could be attracted to a 50 year old woman? Drugs have warped his eyes. Who thinks that blood tastes good? The devil has warped their mouth. Who thinks that being married and having so many women control you is the definition of happiness? The devil has warped your brain and your heart. You are a taken man if you fall under these descriptions. I will not call you up here, but you know who you are. You are thinking right now, ‘Oh he is so right, learn from my misery.’ But we cannot learn from your misery, because nobody learns from history. People think they are invincible, people think they are better than that, stronger than you, smarter than you. But the devil knows how to tempt you. Look at Jesus! Did the devil offer Jesus a beautiful woman, no. After 40 days in the desert, he offered him food, because he knows what we want and what we crave.”

So, it was a learning experience for sure. I was a little intrigued by how people approached the altar. When it was time to receive Jesus, there was like a mass exodus from all around the church – people pushing people, getting out of their pews and running for the altar, knocking over people in front of them trying to receive Jesus. And a very low percentage of people actually went up to receive Jesus or get a blessing, maybe 25% of the people in the VERY packed church. In the US, we are all about our lines, and even if you are not receiving, you just slide your legs over and let the people by you, and stay in line, and everyone knows how to exit the pew, and where to enter the pew, they do not cause a fuss or distraction. But here, it was chaos, people going up the wrong way, people physically climbing over people in the pews to get out and receive, and then get back in. It was really distracting, and I had to really hold on tight to Michael’s hand because he tried to wander off a few times. When I first looked up, wondering what all the noise and commotion was about, I wanted to stand up and whistle that perfect “Ms. Ceasar’s crazy loud whistle” that makes your ears ring for minutes afterward and put some order to the chaos.

The seen was similar to walking around the South African grocery store. In America, you keep you and your cart on the right side of the aisle – you shop like you drive. You do not wander around the middle, you do not drive or block the left. Even when I am walking around Target, I think, “Shop like you drive” and all is neat and orderly and nobody is a hog or rude. At the SA Market, it was chaos, people and carts everywhere, ramming into each other, bumping each other, blocking each other. I kept thinking, ok, we drive on the left, so I will keep my cart on the left side, but that did not work either. In the end, I realized that it was just like driving on the roads here – people are everywhere, there is no order or common sense. If carts and people only came with horns firming attached to themselves, then it really would be easier to maneuver. “Beep beep, I am passing you because you are too slow so don’t drift over.” “Beep beep, I will knock you off your feet if you cannot move your cart.” “Beep beep, I will stand on your knees if they block me from receiving Jesus whenever I so want.” (I actually saw this one happen.)

The night ended with Benny refusing to eat anything but French fries. I have been asking them not to bring French fries, just fruit, but they always reply, “But he likes French fries, so we will bring a few,” and then he eats nothing at all because I refuse to give him the French fries. He is stubborn, but we are trying to work together. Even as we sit here trying to post this blog on the internet, he s refusing the eat his toast, even thought I have tried explaining that the de-worming medication says that if he does not eat, he will be in misery.

Notes from my prayer journal: Today, I lacked patience towards the new and unfamiliar. Even when I saw disorder and frustration and chaos, I should have immediately thanked God for the disorder, and for the faithful people. But I immediately compared it to being home, and it was not until I was in my room and praying that I thanked God. And when the driver ripped me off, I was angry instead of seeing your hand in the situation. The same goes for the waiter who keeps stealing from me. Stealing is never good, but you see his needs and know his heart.

“But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness and faithfulness.”

- Galatians 5:22

Soundtrack song of the day – Hands Open – Snow Patrol

Consecration to Jesus through the Immaculate Heart of Mary, The Immaculate Heart of Mary, Day 18

The Novena to the Divine Mercy, Day 9, those souls who have become lukewarm

Women’s Day

2014-03-08T22:09:00.000-08:00

Saturday, the 8^th

So after a long night, a quick trip to the clinic, a phone call to my children, and walking in on a huge rat hanging out in my room, I decided to call it quits for Friday, even thought it was 4 hours passed already. As a side note, if you want to get back into the compound after the restaurant part closes, you have to ring the bell, and then they lock a little door cut into the steel doors, and you climb through. Not real graceful with a backpack on and a sleepy baby on my hip, but whatever works. I also discovered that the bell is what rings at all hours of the night outside my bedroom window when the muzingos are coming home from drinking and sleeping their way through Uganda – double side note, they are studying at a college here and at least 2 of them are from Canada.

Saturday came with a flourish of activity outside. Apparently Women’s Day means speeches at parks, concerts at churches, and baby showers everywhere, and all are done with absolutely no power. Microphones and speakers are connected to large car batteries. Don’t ask me how, but I had seen this done at Fr. Michael’s church and it was effective. The power must have been shut off after I found the rat, because believe me, I had every light on that I could find.

I got 5 hours of sleep, and woke up feeling much better after the medication and shot I got last night. Super excited about it, I only had a bit of queasiness and a headache, but that is better still the same. I had enough of an appetite to eat a few bites of pineapple, and I split a chicken wrap with Michael. I normally get 1 meal and split with him, and I thought we would try the chicken wrap and get a fruit salad, and 4 drinks, 2 more then and 2 for our room. For someone keeping track, that is about $15 US, or 32,000 UGX. Also, in case you were wondering how we are eating cooked things, the kitchen runs off of propane tanks connected to make shift stove tops and grills. There is a deep fryer in the back connected to a propane tank for the deep fried tilapia that seems to be a local favorite, and a very costly one at that 85,000 UGX gets you a whole tilapia, fried, with French fries and cucumber.

First thing that I had to do was discover how a rat got into the room. Well hello Allison, that is because there are no screens in your windows (even though it looks like there is – the frames are empty), and the glass is broken in your windows. So even though you do not shut your windows at night because of the heat, you draw the curtains shut to stop mosquitoes, but curtains won’t stop rats. Lesson learned. Must find a driver to take me to the store and get a trap or spray or drops or something. I told the head lady, and she said that she would send someone in to put out some drops of stuff, but that was almost 8 hours ago, and still no sign of drops.

We have no power today, so when Linda had said that she would take me to the store today, I am thinking it will not be possible. I had wanted to run to a place called Cafetesserie. Linda said it was the whitest place in town (which is not why I want to go there) but that it serves the best American and French style breads in probably the whole country. I thought it would be nice to bring each of the women that work here a little treat for Women’ Day. I feel badly that they are working, and they work ridiculously hard and they make few schillings. Since they do not get the day off like supposedly the rest of the women in town, I was trying to brighten their day.

Normally, when we are without power for too long though, the stores close early as to not drain their generators. Most places do not have solar generators because they are too expensive to get and too expensive to repair. When you do get one, normally it is a knock off version of a high end American or Japanese company. So the generators run on gas, the cost of which is ridiculous as well. In our hotel, we have one generator that is connected to 1 light in each room. Most hotels keep the fridges on generators, but this hotel only has only two small drink fridges which are not connected to generators. Japanese imports are the most highly sought and most readily available, look at the vehicles here. They are 99.9% Toyotas, although styles and names that I have never seen.

The only mall in the whole country that is both brand new, and that has air conditioning is the Acacia. It is beautiful, and it is where an American would feel most at home. It houses the Cafetesserie, KFC, book stores, a children’s play center, and ice cream parlor, and some clothing and shoe stores. It is a company that is local but run by a larger company in the UAE, and the design shows it – beautiful architecture, very modern and spacious, complete with fountains, living full size trees, ponds, etc.

Linda said that the first time she went it was almost complete white people. She said that she worries because with the bombings and Islamic terrorists so close, and bombing and besieging malls and centers in Kenya, that this would be a prime target in Uganda; “A mall full of Americans, prime for the picking.” I promised that if we ever needed to go there, I would be in and out before a terror suspect made it through the metal detectors and hand wand security officials.

I like the idea of it because it is close to where I stay, maybe 5 minutes away maximum, and seems to have a lot of conveniences that I might want to call upon, although I am still hesitant to take Benny Michael into an uncontrollable environment such as that. Maybe if I had a stroller or something of a similar nature, and he was well fed and sleepy, then I could push him around and it would be nice. If he were at his prime, I might want to rip my hair out, but if it were full of Americans, at least they might understand. When I took Linda to lunch at KFC, I heard too many British accents and South African accents for it to be all American, but religious intolerance does not really differentiate between country.

Benny and I had to spend the day in our rooms for the most part. We went out to play soccer twice, but there is a he baby shower and party being thrown in the courtyard and restaurant which means crackers and apples and water for dinner, and maybe a protein bar for dessert. Which is fine by me, but Benny keeps putting his shoes on and picking up his soccer ball and trying to escape. It is hard to explain to him that the yard is ot our, we share it with everyone who pays to rent it.

Linda stopped by when I finally got him down for a nap. She wanted to check on my Mass plans for tomorrow, and update me on this coming week. She is very concerned because there are like 4 American families coming next week and she is very concerned about their first items slowing down our progress. She says she is hoping a passport by Wednesday, and then making an appointment to file our IOM case. The IOM used to be two steps, but for the past few months, it separated into 3 steps. Instead of just having the medical appointment and then having the TB read, you have to go and open a case first, then go to the IOM appointment, and then go back to have the TB read. So when we were told by our agency that is was about a week long process involving two trips, they were wrong. The IOM still only sees us three days a week, so the ticket there is timing. She also went on to explain that missing a free day or any opportunity to push things forward can delay things by weeks. I have been lucky because there are very few adoptive families here right now, so things are slow and I can slide through easier. In 1 week, I will not be so lucky.

They purposely do not give adoptive families information about each other. We have no idea where they stay, we are not encouraged to get together, to console each other, to let our kids play with each other, or to stay at the same places. This is because, women in particular, feed off each other. The more Americans there are in one place, the more likely they are to become rowdy, anxious, worried, bossy and rude. They start making demands based on lack of education and knowledge, and it can get very ugly. I totally can see that happening, but as someone who is utterly by herself, it might be nice to have an adult conversation with an American who is facing similar challenges.

Linda said that most Americans though come in groups of 2-4. “Nobody comes here, just one person, which is why I am trying extra hard to get you out faster – doing this alone will drive a person crazy – especially living alone in such stressful accommodations.” (Yeah, tell me about it.) I saw this the other day at the mall; a husband and wife, a grandpa, and a daughter, and they had the girl they were adopting. I saw a second group that was a husband, wife, two children and a grandma. I can see how that would be a huge help and a blessing. A group that size though would shut down a bed and breakfast type place. Most places I have stayed have only had 6 rooms, and that group alone required 3. No wonder it was so hard for me to find a place to stay when I was calling around from the US.

Anyhow, Linda expressed her concerns with us moving quickly, especially once hearings begin. As soon as the rulings are issued, then a whole group of families will enter the system and they can easily ruin it for me. If they are pushy and demanding, or rude or bossy or obnoxious at the passport office, IOM, or with the embassy, then the people working at those places can take out their frustrations on me. She was very happy that I have been so levelheaded and gracious to people because, “Americans will ruin it for future Americans in a heartbeat. That is why we are here today with this messed up lengthy process. It used to be that I helped find a place for families to stay, got them a driver, etc. But typical Americans would come in and say ‘this place is gross, you gave us horrible recommendations, we are leaving’ and then hotels would hate us for it. They would go to the embassy whenever they wanted and be pushy and disorganized and waste the embassy’s time by not being prepared, and now you have to email for appointments, can only come in once for filing, and even more problems. Not everyone is as chill as you.”

I can see the issue, and I will work diligently at doing the only thing I can do – praying. I promised her I would continue with patience and graciousness, and that I was willing to do whatever need to be done to be out of here faster, even though 3 trips to the IOM could extend my stay by a week or two.

Keep up the prayers, they are working!!

Notes from my prayer journal: Today, I read that if I seek Him first, and keep my eye upon His will, then all will fall into place. The more I fight him, the more difficult I make things for myself. Ahh, how perfect his will is, so why do I fight it. I will keep my eyes resting upon His Sacred Heart so that it is easier for me to accept the hang ups that may come, the challenges that I face, and the angst that comes with taking up the cross of Christ.

“Because you are my help, I sing in the shadow of your wings. My soul clings to you; your right hand upholds me.”

- Psalm 63:7-8

Soundtrack song of the day – Lazy Eye – Silversun Pickups

Consecration to Jesus through the Immaculate Heart of Mary, Visions of 1947, day 17

The Novena to the Divine Mercy, Day 8, those who are in purgatory

PS. Tomorrow I will call a driver myself, go to Mass with Michael by myself, and maybe even go to the store. And when my agency told me that it was "20,000 UGX a day so squeeze in as many trips as you can" they were insanely wrong. First you tell them where you are going, then they stop at the refueling station, and you pay for their fuel. And then you pay a separate amount for each place you go. Each stop is 20,000 UGX and if they have to wait for you while you are in the store, or Mass, or Passport compound, it can be up to 80,000 UGX. So to go to the passport office, it was 20,000 UGX. He left and went and worked while we were there, and then we called him, and the trip home was 25,000 UGX and only God knows why. Linda said that f I had him wait, it would have been 80,000 UGX.

Friday, the 7th

2014-03-07T08:35:00.002-08:00

Friday, the 7^th

my helpmates for today

I was up until well after midnight last night just tired, and upset on so many levels – really, just overwhelmingly disappointed in myself, for always trying to make everyone happy, and then for things like not having access to my home computer, not having consistent power to get things done, not being at home to help my children.

And then came the nightly heat waves. There are periods of time when it is so stifling in my room, and it makes my head spin. And then on top of always feeling sick, these times make it worse. There is also a dog who likes to help me not sleep. I call him a demon dog and Michael, if could he talk, would probably say the same thing because the dog terrorizes him to no end. At least twice a day, the dog will come tearing down the hill, after Michael while we are playing soccer, and it scares the heck out of him. Nightly, as soon as I shut off my lights, he literally stands below my window and barks incessantly, all night long. It does not stop until the lights come back on. When we have power, sometimes I sleep with the lights on because I have to run into the bathroom in the middle of the night and do not want to step on my computer, which keeps the dog quiet.

There is only one outlet in the room, and it is low to the ground on the wall opposite my bed – which sounds like a large distance, but it is like two feet. There is a 2 foot clearance from the edge of my bed to the wall. So when we have power, everything is plugged in and charging in the walk way and I still step on it without the lights on. When we do not have power, I can slide everything underneath the bed so Michael does not step on it, like tonight.

So I finally decided that the only answer was sleep, and the dog was being ridiculous. I really know that the dark one, feeling like he has me in a good place, was like “I will send her a distraction, so she cannot rest or pray or concentrate. I will break her.” So right when I fell asleep, I woke up sick, but instead of going away after once or twice, it lasted all night. I guess I fell asleep after a few hours, because I awoke all shaky, that jittery OMG I am not right sick. It was before midnight back home so I tried to call my husband, like 6 times. I emailed, and waited and nothing. I just stared at the wall, until Michael woke up and we had power so I logged into my accounts, and found that someone had tried hacking both my email accounts, my facebook acct and tried to use my other email address to reactivate my old facebook account. Again, the dark one.

I fed Michael breakfast, still really shaky. I know I am not right, and I also realize that the village is no place for me to be this weekend. If I cannot order waters without an urge, then I cannot speak in front of 1000+ girls at a boarding school. I text Father Michael and told him my decision. I sat as calmly as possible, just trying to stay focused while waiting for Linda. Today is passport day.

Yesterday, she got the call that the birth certificate was complete. They get sealed at the bank, and the bank demands you get them by noon. So my time to go to the passport office, was the same time that she was standing in different lines at the bank to accomplish her large task, in order for me to even get the passport process started. So she sent a driver for me, and we were there and trying to get ahold of her to see if she was ready to meet me.

Suddenly my cell phone had no service, so she was sending me texts telling me to go find Rhita, and that she was still at the bank, and I was not getting them. The driver was pulled off of the road near the passport compound, and heavily armed officer kept coming up to the car and yelling at the driver. I finally just told the driver to just drop me off on the other side of the road, at the main entrance and I will wait for Linda or Rhita. He was very skeptical because he knows how unsafe it is, but he also understood that we were about to have a serious problem on our hands with this other guy. So Linda shows up after about 20 minutes of me standing there out front. She gets us inside, through security, and I am not sure why, but I was expecting like a DMV or large building with doors and offices and whatever.

Ha. No. This was a huge yard, with military tents for officials, and huge white holding tents for people to wait. Linda points me to a tent and said go there, I will find Rhita and your paperwork. So I wandered towards the tent and realized there was not a friendly face anywhere. I stood near the back of the tent, where I promptly got yelled at. “You need to sit down.” There are no seats, all 50 long wooden benches are full, and nobody is interested in moving one of their bags for me. So I went to a different part of the back of the tent where I got yelled at again. “I am sorry, I am just waiting for my lawyer person who has my paperwork. As soon as I find a seat for both Michael and I, I promise to sit.”

Suddenly Linda appears and tells me that she has found Rhita, but now Linda is leaving me but will be back soon. I ask her if I can sit up towards the front on the metal benches or if those are taken or for something else, because people are leaving from the front and it is slow to fill, maybe I can hop in. Everyone else seems to have folders and pieces of paper, so maybe they are hearing their names being called. She assures me that I can sit anywhere, and I better before I get into real trouble.

So I go up front, wait for someone to stand, and hop in their seats. Instantly I can feel peoples eyes all over me. I realize that people are feeding into tables in front of me. The tables in front of me are desks with gigantic stacks of passport applications on them, and things are being stamped, reviewed and then the files are thrown into boxes. After about an hour, Rhita finds me. She is with a man who has a file with Michael’s name on the front. He marches to one desk, grabs the guys stamp and stamps all 20 pages inside. Next, he marches to another desk and yells at the lady working it to do call me next. Rhita urges me up front, the lady glares at me, and signs a bunch of stuff, and then the application gets thrown in a box on the floor. Rhita pulls my arm and maneuvers us outside the compound where we wait and wait and wait for Linda. After maybe an hour, Linda gets off of a boda boda and hands Rhita a stack of cash, and Rhita disappears.

Linda finds a taxi for us, and on the way home, she tells me that this morning, she was waiting for the birth certificate at the bank, and was late because the bank had a hold up. Then when she had got me through security, and disappeared, she was talking to the passport official about expediting our passport application. For an average citizen, it can take 3 months for one to be completed. However for adoptions, it can take longer. The lawyers normally pay an expediting fee to fast track adoption passports, but when they came today, they found out that the official had upped the amount that he requires to fast track, so Linda had to hop on a boda boda and run to the bank she had just left to get money. I told her if that ever happens again, then I prefer to pay the difference and go to the bank later, versus standing outside by myself for an hour, with a small child and no cell phone to know what is going on. She laughed and said it would not be right but she is thankful that I would be willing.

I told her that I would need to go to the Surgery, which is the British run hospital, if my sickness keeps up. I probably have a virus, coupled with my body reacting to my malaria meds, but I cannot keep on like this. She agreed, and we will go tonight or tomorrow if I get worse.

I spent the rest of the afternoon on my bed, trying to entertain Michael. I was running out of options so pulled out a stack of prayer cards, looking for my Padre Pio one in particular. Michael instantly grabbed them and started going through them. He would look at them and babble, and pass it to me, and then do it again. He did this for an hour and then we fell asleep.

I am not sure what tonight or tomorrow will hold in store for us, but I have no choice but to have faith.

Notes from my prayer journal: I am so needy, so totally dependent on God for everything. I try to depend on people, but I know that it is not right. St. Monica prayed “in groaning and weeping” and this exactly how I feel, groaning and weeping, giving everything I have to not go drop off Michael with the lawyer, get on the plane and go home. People, before I left, would ask, “Oh, so long, how will you ever manage?” And I always replied, “I am not thinking about it. I have no choice in the matter, so I will not even think about it. I have only ever been away from them to go to Africa over a year ago. But I was with people, so I was distracted. I have no idea how I will handle the silence and their absence.” I thought I would have more contact with them, so it would be no big deal, but I have not due to the time differences and the business of their schedule there. And so I sit and groan at God, loudly telling him whatever I am thinking, offering up these things for people I know who are in greater need than I.

“Look to the Lord and his strength, seek his face always.”

- Chronicles 16:11

Soundtrack song of the day – Optimistic - Radiohead

Consecration to Jesus through the Immaculate Heart of Mary, The Gift God Gave September 10^th, day 16

The Novena to the Divine Mercy, Day 7, those who venerate and glorify my mercy and immerse themselves in me.

Thursday, the 6th

2014-03-07T08:32:00.001-08:00

Yep, the bathroom. It looks bigger than it is. If you sit on the toilet, you can do 2 things at once. Rofl. You can almost reach the sink from the toilet, so 3 things at once.

So Father Michael called yesterday to check on my plans for next week. Originally, our goal was to get the passport application filed by Friday, and then for me to go to Masaka and Kitovu or Kitembe and hang out and kill time doing some work along the way.

But with Linda feeling very encouraged that my application for Michael will be filed quickly, we decided that Father would come and get me on Saturday, and that I would go to a few schools on Saturday, go to Mass with him in some of his outer villages on Sunday, and then on Monday, we would go to another school or two, and then I would come back. I am not sure if this will work but we shall see.

One of the most important pieces of information he told me was that I will need to be prepared to speak several times over the course of the weekend.

In Uganda, on March 8^th, the whole country celebrates Women’s Day and Father wants me to speak on being a woman to the female students at the schools we are visiting. It is so big, that if March 8^th is during the week, the whole country shuts down to celebrate. Oddly enough (well not oddly, but Godly), I just finished reading a book on St. Monica and her life spoke volumes about the role of women and the vocation of women. She was an example to all women, but especially women in Africa, as she herself was from Northern Africa.

She was firm, loving, and exuberant. She never backed down, and spoke her mind firmly and lovingly. She prayed incessantly. She raised her children with one focus in mind, getting them to heaven. She had a pagan abusive husband, whom she prayed into conversion. She had a wayward arrogant son that she followed throughout Europe and Africa, until he converted. And after she saw him converted, and him and his friends baptized, she confessed that her work was done, that her mission was complete, and within a few short weeks, she passed on to her heavenly reward. You should try to get a copy of the book, if you want the quotes and prayers and such – her life was really beautiful, and answer to those people who question whether or not God hears and answers prayers; St. Monica and the Power of Persistent Prayer, by Mike Aquilina. If you are in Sacramento, I bought mine at the Easter’s Catholic Bookstore – go support them.

I tried to write about her all day, but the power was out, and Michael was feeling especially naughty. The skies threatened to rain all day, and issues back home kept sneaking back into the fore front. I kept praying my chaplet, that God just help me focus, but to no avail. Even now, I stare at St. Monica’s face, and fail to put my thoughts of admiration into words that might touch the souls of high school girls.

I also was struck with the realization that I sometimes focus too much on being Michael’s teacher, and not enough on being his mom. I am not sure if my homeschool friends ever have this happen to them, but I get in a teaching mode – 3 cars, can we count to three. That is purple, can you say purple. And then I must fight with myself not to judge his progress. I was watching him in the grass today and thought, “He still only says mom and daddy audibly….” But I was disappointed. Oh God please forgive me. I was disappointed that he calls me mom. I somehow magically forgot that 2 weeks ago, he had never said mom, that three weeks ago, he was trying to eat out of his diaper, and that 6 months ago he almost died from malaria and was in the hospital. How easy it is to become distracted and fail to recognize the little things.

Really, I sat around all day hoping to get a text from Linda that said the long birth certificate had been completed and that we would be headed for the passport office. I have been waiting since Monday, when we got our written ruling, for the birth certificate to be complete. I waited, and waited and waited, but the text did not come until 6 PM. So we go tomorrow around 11. I need to also get Michael’s head shaved as well, in order to apply the medicine, maybe go to Mass, so maybe we can get a few things done at once.

I kept checking the phone thinking, “Maybe Linda text.” I would check facebook and think, “Maybe the kids messaged me.” And then I would check the dreaded email to see if Paul or Linda or the kids had emailed me. It isn’t even that I care what they have to say, it is just nice to know that they are thinking about you enough to send a message. I get great messages from my father-in-law, my mom, friends from college. They just help me to feel like the thousands of miles between me and home are not so bad. Thanks guys!!!

Anyhow, I will write out my speech tonight, even though I have no printer, just for practice. You can give me ideas and suggestions via email!

Also, of interest, I got in trouble with Harriett for not letting her in to clean my room. She got mad and told Janet to yell at me.

So Janet comes and says, “Allison, I know that you do not want us in your mom, but it is probably pretty dirty, so you should let us in.”

“Janet, you can come in whenever you want.”

“So if you want me in there watching her, I can.”

“What?!? I do not have to watch her. I never leave the compound because I have nowhere to go, not because I am paranoid. If she wants to clean the room, she can. I have swept, washed all of my laundry in the shower, and I take out my garbage to the back. I have nothing better to do, so if she wants me to clean it for her, I can do that.”

“Well what about the sheets? Ours are not good enough?”

“What?!? (again with the shock of being grilled for no reason) Uhm, the day it rained last week, Michael came in and jumped on the bed with his muddy shoes while I ran into the shower to grab a towel for him. I took off the muddy sheets, and since I brought extra sheet sets with me, and did not want to bother you guys, I just put on of those sets on. I prefer your sheets because I accidently brought Jersey, not thinking about how hot and nasty they would be – I bought them on clearance for like $8, but put little thought into the fabric. I have your sheets in my laundry pile.”

I love Harriett, she is like the master of the house, picks all of the fruits and veggies needed for meals, closes down the shop at night, and opens it up in the morning. She speaks very broken English, but tries. She is very humble and I have gone out of my way to help her when she will let me. But I have been here a week, know everyone’s names. Everyone is so sweet with Michael, but nobody will let me do anything. They get mad when I bring my dishes from the dining patio to the kitchen, get embarrassed when I bring my garbage out to the pile. But good gracious folks, I could be here for 10 more weeks, and I have absolutely nothing to do. You play with Michael, and let me clean bedrooms. My own room can only be cleaned so much. I pack and repack suitcases for the fun of it. As it is, I sweep every day. I will attach a picture of the broom they use – it is like the brush I used to scrub the vinyl outside of my house, with a bamboo pole stuck into the hole and held in place with a nail. Amazing.

I will go out of my way tomorrow to show her that I appreciate her, have her do some laundry (our agency frowns upon us doing our own because we are taking away jobs from Ugandans) have her clean my room, let Benny Michael wander into the kitchen to say hi.

Notes from my prayer journal: I have let much distract me today, my concerns, my deadlines, things going on at home, things going on in my heart, little picky things that happen when you are at one place for too long. I saw right through the problems I was facing, know that they come from satan who is just trying to body slam me, and take away my new found peace. And I let those things get to me, I got angry, I wanted to exact revenge for these stupid people and stupid things. I failed my first challenge this Lent L Not that I did not try – I stared at Jesus and tried to focus, “For the Sake of His sorrowful Passion, have mercy on us and on the whole world, help me to focus my heart on your will, help me to exhale and see your hand on them, protect them from the devil, who uses them as pawns in his little games. Guide my heart to kindness and forgiveness.”

“Surely God is my salvation, I will trust and not be afraid. The Lord, the Lord, is my strength and my song; he has become my salvation.”

Isaiah 12:2

Soundtrack song of the day – Shiver – Coldplay

Consecration to Jesus through the Immaculate Heart of Mary, Lover of the Heart of Jesus, day 15

The Novena to the Divine Mercy, Day 6, the meek and humble, the children

Sadness over Kibeho

2014-03-06T07:55:00.000-08:00

Wednesday the 5th

(Sorry for posting this so late, but we have not had power for over 24 hours, so while I can check facebook and post pictures from my tiny tablet with an independent internet, I cannot post blogs from my tablet if we have no power!)

Sadness over Kibeho

While I was at the embassy this morning, I realized that my dream of going to be Kibeho would be denied again. I tried not to get ma, but it was hard. Here I am in Uganda, a stone’s throw from Kigali. But here, I am with a child that has no passport or shot record, both of which are needed to purchase plane tickets, leave Uganda, and enter Rwanda.

For you to understand the significance of Rwanda and Kibeho, you would need to go back to 1981, when a girl at a private Catholic boarding school in Kibeho is reported to have strange things happening to her. She says that she saw the Blessed Virgin Mary. This happens several times, and the school is debating what to do, when all of a sudden, it happens to another girl, and then another. These girls are all completely different from each other – believers, non-believers, the persecuted and persecutor.

The messages they are given are of love, and forgiveness and repentance. She gives messages of warning, shows the children images of rivers running with blood. The Vatican comes out and doctors and psychologists perform tests on the girls during the apparitions – burns them, stabs them, checks for reflex movements, watches eye dilations, record and check heart rates, breathing changes, etc. They record everything. The Vatican researches miracles reported at the site. Eventually the miracles and the apparitions are approved.

Years later, there are rivers of blood flowing in Rwanda – the Hutu tribe in Rwanda is systematically wiping out (tribal genocide) the Tutsi tribe for being genetically inferior and for weakening the country as a whole (very Holocaust, Jews are inferior and weakening Gemany’esque) and maybe a few moderate Hutu who stood in their way. Beginning April 7^th, 1994, the day after the plane carrying the Hutu leader was shot down. After 100 days of massacre 1 million people are dead, which equated to 70% of all Tutsi and 20% of the country’s entire population. The country and the land as devastated – in a country where “war rape” and sexual mutilation was prevalent, you suddenly had thousands of newly infected HIV positive women giving birth, leaving orphans. You had children soldiers with no way to deal with the PTSD, a crippled economy because of 20% of the country is gone; the work force, the supply and demand chain blown up. Villages, offices, buildings, shelled out, burned to the ground, crop lands and feed animals left in ashes. The affects trickled into Zaire/the DR Congo, as Hutu chased Tutsi into neighboring countries were Hutu tried to regroup and bring justice to their lost lands and loved ones.

It was heard a lot in the news, but the daily horrors of the Holocaust are not made real until 2007 when a book was published called Left to Tell, written by Immaculée Ilibagiza. (Buy it here: http://www.amazon.com/Left-Tell-Discovering-Rwandan-Holocaust/dp/1401908977 ) In the book, she tells of the horrors of hiding in a tiny bathroom, a total of 8 women, in the house of her pastor, for 91 days, sharing table scraps, a toilet they could not flush and praying the rosary. She can hear her old friends screaming her name, yelling descriptions of what they did to her family, hoping that she is in the jungle and could hear them.

She survives. More importantly, she forgives. She calls upon Our Lady to heal her, to act as her mother, and for Jesus to have mercy on the perpetrators and more. In her multiple books that follow Left to Tell, she goes into the story of Our Lady of Kibeho (http://www.amazon.com/Our-Lady-Kibeho-Speaks-Africa/dp/1401927432/ref=pd_sim_b_3/190-9836458-9704226?ie=UTF8&refRID=19W4X8ZHFKEE29BZT7S5) . In another book, she tells about a pagan boy who is visited by Jesus (http://www.amazon.com/The-Boy-Who-Met-Jesus/dp/1401935826/ref=pd_bxgy_b_img_z) .

She gives talks about healing, and salvation, and love, all over the world. Several friends have seen her speak. In fact, the last few years, I have bought tickets for my mother-in-law and I to go see her. There is an interior ache and longing to meet her and learn from her, and hear her relay the messages that Our Lady has to offer each of us, but each year, something comes up. Last year, when I wanted to go, one of the kids got sick. This year, I was a week out from heading to Uganda, quite confident that I would be able to skip on over to Kibeho anyway.

So why Kibeho and not someplace more glamorous like Lourdes – where waters heal and faith can instantly be restored, just at the site of it? I think it is because from start to finish, the events and her apparitions began and ended in my lifetime. I remember hearing about Rwanda on the radio news announcements and on tv, although they had little impact, as I was too young to understand the meaning. It was my first exposure to something traumatic and brutal. Maybe it was because Immaculee has a youthfulness about her, that I connected with – even though she was in her 20’s when she happened, I could imagine how I would react if something like that happened in the US. Maybe it is because the messages and apparitions have already been approved by the Vatican, and miracles have not been disproved by scientists that recorded them.

So my non-religious or non-Catholic friends often question why I would want to go to an apparition site, and not a place in Church history, where Christ himself walked and lived? Who is not drawn to the idea of an eternal mother, who said the important “yes” to God ever, who brought forth our Creator and our Savior? Our Lady was the dawn, the Eve of our Salvation History, and she always is with us. She always comes to teach us something important, prepare us for something about to happen, or warns us about something that could happen in the future – the Immaculate Conception, the Cold War, a Holocaust, and in the case of Medjugorje – the End Times. Her only goal being to bring us back to the Sacred Heart of Her Son. Like all good mothers, she educates us, loves us, and guides us to our salvation.

To be honest, I kind of wanted to go and see the faith of the millions who still travel to that site that is ridiculous to get to, with no amenities, that is not built up. Who crosses dangerous, rough terrain to thank her for her warnings, who beg her to go to her Son, on their behalves for healing of their hearts and minds and bodies? I have daily to all of you, simple humans and beg for prayers, why not go to the Mother of God???

And who doesn’t want healing? Who doesn’t need healing of some kind? I personally would not want to be in the “No healing needed” line. If you have never been hurt, than have you ever been loved, have you ever really lived, have you never realized the mistakes and emptiness in your life? This is not my life. I would take the “Broken and Scarred and Needy” line any day of the week, because as painful as it is, I can thank God for loving me that much, using me that much, and having that much faith in me.

I need Jesus

Notes from my prayer journal: Today I the beginning of Lent, but since I have been here, I feel like I have been in a desert. I have never prayed so much. Ever. Steady, slow, repetitive prayer. Every time something disturbs me, the only thing I can do is pray. There is little else that I can do. God has brought me to my very own personal desert, and so I sit here and thank Him and pray strength, guidance, patience and peace. I cannot turn up the music, cannot call a friend, cannot surf the internet, get lost in a store, drive over the speed limit. I cannot escape my weakness, I can only confront it. I can only sit in a cell, much like Mother Teresa would do, and stare at the cross, and thirst. On the wall, in every chapel of hers, was written the Words, “I thirst” a reminder of what our desire should be, and a reminder of Christ’s feelings for us on the cross before He died. I can speak to the saints while asking for direction, beg my Mother for patience, ask St. Monica to hover over my children, ask St. Therese to heal my wounded heart, and ask My Savior to have mercy upon me.

“We are assured and know that with God, being a partner in their labor, all things work together and are fitting into the plan, and work for the good of those who love God and are called according to His design and purpose.”

- Romans 8:28

Soundtrack song of the day – The Ghost Inside – Broken Bells

Consecration to Jesus through the Immaculate Heart of Mary, Kolbe’s Prayer of Consecration, day 14

The Novena to the Divine Mercy, Day 5, those who have left the church

As an added bonus:

“Beloved, in our neediness and poverty, let us grieve for those who seem to themselves to have everything. For their joy is like that of madmen…Let us rejoice, beloved, if we have received the medicine from heaven, because we all were madmen and we were all healed because we do not love things we once loved. We should groan to God on behalf of those who are yet in madness, for he is able to save them. What they need is to look at themselves and be displeased with what they see – to see what they desire (and see what is lacking).”

From St. Augustine’s Tractates on the gospel of John, 7.2.

Is this not where we all should start our Lent, examining ourselves, and seeing where we lack God, where we need healing, examining our sinfulness? God made us in His image, yet we are broken for this is the fallen creation we live in. He made us this way, with our own sets of obstacles, problems, issues, mountains to climb. He gave us these crosses, not so we would sit and wallow, but so we would aspire, and climb and grow, and learn and overcome. Let us grieve for those who look inside themselves and see perfection, who see not need to change and grow and repent and conquer, for they shall never seek or come to know God.

PS.

Michael had his medical exam at the Wentz Medical Center today, and other than having ring worm in several spots on his head and needing to be dewormed, he is safe from Hepatitis A & B, HIV, Syphilis, and Sickle Cell or any form of anemia, and currently does not have malaria. Yay Michael. Anything with more depth than that will be done in the states.

I went to the embassy, formally introduced myself there, got the blue IOM form, did not get hit by cars or boda bodas while running across 6 lanes of traffic to get into the embassy, mastered shopping by myself, and I found the ONLY US fast food chains in Uganda, guess what it is?!? Not McDonalds….KFC. You guessed it. The Colonel made it to Uganda before McDonalds. Impressive.

I also heard from Linda that she has a good feeling about my passport and she does not think it should take too long to get, as she has seen very few adoptive couples around and lawyers are reporting a slow in cases right now. So when I go to the passport office tomorrow or Friday, I should also go shopping and plan on sticking around the Capital next week so I can pick it up and get on move with the IOM. Prayers head, and more prayers needed.

I rejoice in all things, but especially, on this Ash Wednesday, I rejoice in these little and most blessed gifts that I have been given; Michael’s healthy medical reports, kind people at the Embassy today, and my laundry that I washed two days ago is finally dry and does not smell.