Her name is Katie and she has been in Uganda since 2007. She is 22 and a foster mom to 13 beautiful girls.
A girl I have never met, and probably will never meet, and she has broken my heart in the most beautiful of ways. I'm crying just writing this!
There are some people that write passionately and uninhibited and with all the joy in their hearts coupled with wisdom beyond years.
Katie is one of them.
Her first post (that I could find at least) is her simple praise of how good the Lord is. From that point on, I was, and still am, completely captivated by her humble heart for Christ and her desire to love on all of His children.
Have you ever read something and not realized how rusty and decrepit your heart has grown until then? Like a car stuck in the ditch that you would like to repair and start to make anew again? Four of her blog posts in, the Holy Spirit started to gently sweep off the cobwebs from my dusty heart and whisper dreams that I had pushed aside until now.
"Sometimes working in a third world country makes me feel like I am emptying the ocean with an eye-dropper. And just when I have about half a cup full of water, it rains: more orphans from the north migrate to where I live, more abandoned and dead babies are found, more people are infected with aids. It is enough to discourage even the most enthusiastic and passionate person. And yet the discouragement lasts only a moment and God tells me to keep going. That He loves me. That he loves these people. That He will never leave or forsake any of us, not one. That my work is important, to Him.
I spent the day at the wedding of my friend Lydia. It was a beautiful celebration not only of our love for one another, but also the love God has for us. At the reception, there was cake and singing and dancing, just like at any american wedding. One thing that wasnt like an american wedding however, was the congregation of street children at the gate, all longing to join the party inside. Those who know me know that I am not the kind of person who can sit in a chair if others have to sit on the floor; I immediately felt suffocated inside the gates of the extravagant party. So for most of the reception you could find me outside with the raggedy, dirty street children dancing and laughing and cuddling. Most people were slightly appalled that I, a white person especially, was associating with these children, the lowest of the low, the outcasts of society. Many of the fancily dressed guest at the wedding even came and told me that I probably shouldn't speak to these awful children, let alone kiss them and let them bury their faces in my hair. "They are from the street!" the people would cry, as if it was some kind of sin, as if the children could help it. We had so much fun though. The children ate up every bit of attention I could give, danced as close to me as they possibly could and lavished me with love. We spun and laughed until we ached and had to collapse in the grass outside of where the reception was taking place. Those who had been shy at first (they are not used to adults talking to them, let alone mzungus) ended up snuggled close at my side, petting my hair or kissing my hands. The littlest ones fell asleep in my lap, despite the blaring music from the wedding. Those who could speak english wanted to know all about me and thanked me unneccisarily for spending time with them. They were so happy, I can't describe the new light in their eyes after all of our dancing.
It's that light.
It's that happiness.
It's that love.
My darling little friend Emily is asleep in my lap and I can feel her heart beating against mine.
It's that beat.
It's that warmth.
It's that love.
It's that love that is the reason I just keep filing up my little eye-dropper. Keep filling it up and emptying my ocean one drop at a time. I'm not here to eliminate poverty, to eradicate disease, to put a stop to people abandoning babies. I'm just here to love."
"I'm just here to love."
I pray from the very depths of my soul and with every fiber in my being that I can learn what it is to do that. I know at this point that I am so consumed with myself and my pride that I have a difficult time actually extending the love of the Father; the love that He so freely has given me.
So this is where the dreams start.
I want to go to a third world country. Mostly because I am terrified and want to stretch myself and I truly want the Lord to break my heart; wreck it into a thousand pieces until there is nothing left of me. I want to struggle but also feel the Holy Spirit work and allow me to lavish love on His beautiful children. I also want to go back to the Czech Republic. I want to teach and be a light that drives out the darkness there. Even sitting here, hundreds of miles away, my heart burns and aches to be with those beautiful people whom I have grown to love so much. It has been years since I have been with them and yet I still think about them everyday. Even here in Winona, I want to see students stray from all of the parties because they becomes tasteless and they taste the goodness of the Lord instead.
I just want to go. Go love and be with my Savior, lover, life-giver, strength, the One worthy of all my praise! I want to stand atop of mountains and feel my own insignificance and to still hear Him say how much He loves me, how He pursues me daily, and even with all the splendor around me and this great earth below my feet, and unending sky above my head, I'm His greatest and most beloved creation. Me, standing amongst all of that. Me, the being that comes and goes like dust in the wind. I want to stand in His splendor and worship Him with all the breath in my lungs and every fiber of my being; just sing the sweetest of love songs to the Love of my life. I want to weep with brothers and sisters across the world. To rejoice with them. Simply to walk with them in life. I want to be broken, molded, shaped, loved into what I've been called to do in this.
But for now, I will be in Winona and I will do what the Lord has been quietly urging me to do all along:
"I'm just here to love."
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