On the edge of normalcy

It's an awkward place standing at the edge of normal life, waiting for the space between now and the next miracle to slowly disappear.

It's awkward to wake up at sunrise each morning to teach children in NYC, when my head knows it's 2PM in Uganda and my heart quietly wonders "What am I still doing here?" 

It's awkward to buy Starbucks coffees and go shopping in Anne Taylor boots for Trader Joe's salads and know that all I truly yearn for is to have my feet constantly caked in the red dirt of Uganda's roads walking hand in hand with some of the most beautiful children I have ever known. It's awkward to worship in the cushioned pews at church and know that I yearn to sing in the cement-walled, dirt-floored sanctuary where the children's voices echo into the streets. 

It's awkward when I meet someone new and they ask me why I decided to study special education at Columbia. "Will you go back to Boston to teach? Or would you like to stay in New York once you graduate?" Neither, I say. 

I used to try to gauge within our first moments of interaction whether I was speaking to a dreamer or a realist, a cynic or an optimist - how much should I say and how should I say it? There was a time when the honesty wouldn't come so easily, but now I try my best to respond with what's truly on my heart.  

I want to spend the rest of my 20's living in Uganda. I want to open a home for special needs children in a country where children with disabilities are too often abandoned, starved, hidden behind houses, kept out of schools and orphanages because they are thought to be contagious at best...cursed by the devil at worst. 

I want to see children with special needs adopted into families that will keep and love them forever. 
I want to see parents learning to love their children with special needs for the very first time. 
I want to see broken families restored the way our Heavenly Father always intended them to be. 

Sometimes I wonder why God loved me enough to put me on a plane to Uganda 2 years ago. I wonder why He loves me enough to lead me into the tough, but beautiful world for children with disabilities in Uganda, and invite me into a long-term journey with Him there. 

It's an awkward place to stand when I know there are 509 days left until I graduate, yet there are days when I wish I could jump on a plane to Uganda tomorrow. There are days when I want to forget about work and school because there are children being abandoned and starved right now and they are 7,000 miles away. But Jesus reminds me that He doesn't need me to save His children.

It's His job to save, and my job to love. 
It's His job to heal, and my job to trust. 
It's His job to make miracles out of the dust, 
and mine to sit at the foot of the cross  
knowing that He is calling me into a battle that is already won. 

509 days and I'm learning to find Him in the waiting. In this 509 day gap where each week consists of 40 hours of work, 8 hours of classes, endless hours of studying, and too few hours of sleep, I sing to the One who loves me enough to discipline me and build patience and trust when my heart doesn't understand. 

I'm learning that the discipline He builds in me today isn't for today - it's for tomorrow when there is a house full of 20 kids, it's 7AM, and they are all ready for breakfast. 

The patience He builds in me today isn't for today - it's for tomorrow when there are mountains of paperwork to be done and we are fighting for children in a system that is corrupt and set up against them. 

The trust He builds in me today isn't for today - it's for tomorrow when there isn't enough food or money or space, yet we can know that our Savior's love is reckless and He works every thing for the good of those who love Him. 

I can trust Jesus because He's been faithful to me in the darkness. When my dad refused to speak to me 2 years ago because he didn't want me anywhere near Uganda, Jesus took his heart and changed it. Today, he sponsors two of my good friends' college tuition for $2,000 per semester and we talk about the day he'll be able to join me in Uganda too. When my dear friends Sandra and Brenda didn't have the money to go to college, God provided us enough to insure that both of them would graduate. When 14 of my students burned with malaria and could hardly move from the pain, Jesus came and healed them. When I prayed that I could work with children with disabilities in Uganda, I met Shamim, who needed ramps to access her classroom and church in her big bulky wheelchair. Today, the orphanage is 100% handicap accessible and Shamim was even able to get a new wheelchair custom-made for her body. When it was wet season and 100 children needed mosquito nets to protect themselves from malaria, God faithfully provided $1,600 for malaria prevention in the community. When I didn't know where I could find 1 laptop for a friend who had just joined university, Jesus provided 7 laptops in the past 3 months. When my partially deaf student asked me to pray for his ears, God provided a charity that paid for $2,000 hearing aids and ear infection medicine that very week. His name is Alex and today, he is healed. I can trust Jesus because He's been faithful to me in the darkness. 

There is a King who loves each of His children, and He's taught me to see each of them in their rarest forms of beauty. 

There is a Father who invites His children to come out from behind the houses, and walk with Him into victory. 

There is a Mountain Mover who is here to uproot lies and break down walls of stigma and fear.

There is a Healer who plants the truth in our hearts, that His children with disabilities aren't "mistakes." In fact, they are perfect. 

There is a Savior who lifts His children out of the dirt and carries them into His house. 

There is a Miracle Maker who loves us fiercely and endlessly. 
His name is Jesus.

And He invites me into His house because I am just as broken as the rest of them, 
and my answer is a loud, resounding 
"Yes."