Kukana means Treasure.

I have a post-it stuck on the wall above my bed that says two simple words: "Me also!" 

These two words represent one of my all-time favorite memories while volunteering at a home for special needs children in Uganda this past summer. The time had come to leave and I forced myself off the floor to say the goodbyes I never wanted to say on the day I never thought could come so quickly. It was all a blur of shirt tugs and tight hugs and sloppy kisses. It's easy for anyone who visits this home to agree that the kids may be small, but their personalities are huge and you'd be hard-pressed to find kids more unreservedly affectionate than these! 

The boys were sitting at a table eating snack in the common room and I kneeled down to kiss sweet Abrahim goodbye. "I love you, Abrahim," I said as I kissed his forehead for the last time. Without any warning or hesitation, the other boys immediately jumped up and started shouting "Me also! Kiss for me also!" I kissed each of them on the forehead as they grabbed me into their tight embraces full of determination and laughter. "Auntie! ME ALSO." Once all the boys had gotten their adequate fill on kisses and hugs from Auntie Jane, they collaboratively dragged another boy towards me from the corner of the room, set him on the bench right in front of me, and insisted in the most serious voices, 
"Kisses for Misach, also." 

That day is not only memorable because it was full of more hugs and kisses than I will ever remember - somewhere in the four hundreds, if I had to guess! But it struck me the confidence the Ekisa children have in knowing the love and care that they were created to receive. "Not only Abrahim, but me, also! Not only me, but Misach, also!" Children with orphaned spirits are afraid to ask for blessings. They are afraid to ask for more food, more gifts, and more hugs. But the children in this place know their worth in Jesus. They know they can trust Him because He's been faithful to them in the darkness. They know what it means to ask for heaven and to receive it here on earth. They've discarded their identities in orphanhood and have found their identities in the Father who loves them and says to each of them, "You belong to me. Everything in my kingdom belongs to you!" {Luke 18:16} 

Proverbs 24:4 says

"By wisdom a house is built and through understanding it is established, 

through knowledge its rooms are filled

with rare and beautiful treasures."

I have clung to this verse for over a year. From the moment I first read it, I could envision the rooms of my future home being filled with the "rare and beautiful treasures" that are God's children with special needs. It didn't take much time for me to realize that children with disabilities are quite rare in the way they are created, yet undeniably beautiful and already perfect in the eyes of their Creator. 

"Kukana" means "Treasure" in Kigisu, the local language of Mbale (the town where I hope to settle by the end of next year). 
"Kukana" is also the name for our future organization:

"Kukana" is every child that will enter our gates. "Kukana" is every adult with disabilities who has never been employed in Uganda due to discrimination and stigma, but will find employment and a community here. "Kukana" is every mother who shows up at our gates, unable to take care of her child with special needs, yet is willing to learn. "Kukana" is every family that struggles under the pressures and heartache of raising a child with a disability they do not understand, within a society that calls their children "contagious" and "cursed."  

But "Kukana" is also me. And "Kukana" is also you. Without Jesus, we are just as broken and misguided as the rest of them. Even still, He stretches His arms towards us and calls us "Treasure." 

I have known my Savior through the storms. 

Even as I type this on my bed, I can recall nights full of crying as I'd stretch my hands towards the ceiling, choosing to believe that He was still there, even when every emotion in my heart told me otherwise. But God is greater than our hearts, and He knows exactly what He's doing {1 John 3:20}. I can remember the night He hit me with the magnitude of how much He loves me. I could understand how much He loves other people because I could very distinctly, tangibly, and even physically feel the weight of His love for me that night. If this same affection is what He holds for every other human being in the world, how can I not devote the rest of my life to loving others? How can I not stop to fight for a little more of heaven on earth in these little ones lives? 

Without Jesus, I am the one that is blind to my worth, and the full worth of those around me. I am the one that is paralyzed by my own insecurities and shortcomings. I am the one with the disabled heart, only able to love others with this minuscule human capacity for extending compassion that is sure to disappoint and fall short at times. 

I am the one with special needs. 
Me, also. 

Suddenly I see that my students in NYC are not so different from myself. My current kids are 2-4 years old and they live with disabilities. They can't speak without prompting. They can't walk without someone holding them up. They don't respond to faces that smile at them or voices that call out their names. So we teach them from the very beginning. We use intensive procedures that can take weeks or months to teach them to respond to the sound of their teacher's voices. We teach them to look us in the eyes when they say "Hi" and we teach them to keep eye contact for at least five seconds. My children are not so different from you and me. I often get distracted by the swiftness of this world. I forget to respond to my Father's voice. I often forget to keep my eyes locked on the One who loves me most. I look everywhere but into His eyes, and I forget that I am fighting a battle that is already won. 

With 484 days left until graduation, I've begun to pray for the children that will enter our gates. I don't know their names or their faces yet. But I trust the One who created them. I don't know the stories or the trauma they may carry in. But I trust the Healer. I don't know the surgeries they will need or the diseases they will fight. But I trust the Life Giver. I don't know how or where the money will come to fund our center each year. But I trust my Heavenly Father who is rich and carries His work to completion {Philippians 1:6}. 

I pray that though my children might never see or hear or walk on this side of heaven, that each one of them would carry a full and deep understanding that they belong to Jesus. 

I pray that our walls would resound with the shouts of children saying "Me also!" as they gather at the foot of His cross each morning and each night before bed. 

And I pray that you would know the full weight of His love for you too. I pray that you would never stop fighting for His love in this world because we carry the truth that His love alone heals us all. 
Me and you, also. 

"Here on earth you will have many trials and sorrow
But take heart, for I have overcome the world."
John 16:33

*Names has been changed for privacy