Ekisa means "Grace"

 Goodbye New Hope....Hello Ekisa

I’ve been waiting to be here for two full years. I first heard about Ekisa on my plane ride back home from Uganda in 2012. Ekisa means “Grace” in Lugandan, the local language of Uganda. In this busy, beautiful, NGO-filled city called Jinja that sits on the Nile and attracts more foreigners than I’ve ever seen in Uganda before, Ekisa is the only orphanage that specifically serves and cares for special needs children. It’s been quite the adjustment for me – moving from the rural town of Busia and leaving the Uganda that I’ve known for the past two years. The world in Busia is small and simple. I can walk or bike to town and I’ll hear school children shouting out, “Auntie Jane! Hi!” All our meals are traditional Ugandan meals that we eat at the house as a big family – potatoes, rice, beans, pasta, greens, avocados, and chapati (chewy delicious tortillas). We wash our clothes by hand and the children pump their water from a well. Seeing muzungus (foreigners) is quite rare in Busia, and when I do see one, I have to fight the urge to chase after them and find out how they ended up in our small, quiet town.   

            Moving to Jinja (the biggest city in Uganda, besides the capital) two weeks ago has been a big change and I think I’m still in the process of getting adjusted. First of all, there are restaurants here that serve hamburgers, pizza, Chinese food, Indian food, and the most delicious cinnamon rolls. Non-profits are a dime a dozen and on some days, I feel like I can spot out just as many foreigners as I can Ugandans in town. I’ve found a café that serves the most delicious chai latté and also has free Wi-Fi – something I never thought I’d find in Uganda! On Sundays we go to a church called Acacia, which is led by an American pastor who is passionate about ministering to Ugandans as well as missionary families. Every Sunday, about 200 people gather for worship – half Ugandan, half muzungu – and it is an incredible collision of my two worlds. It’s breathtaking to see and meet all the families and young men/women (mostly women) that have allowed God to interrupt their lives and have come to build a new life here.

Morning cuddles with Debra

Practicing walking with Jackson

            One thing I’ve loved about my so-far short time at Ekisa has been the opportunity to help our kids feel that they aren’t growing up in an orphanage, despite the reality that they are. One of the many dangers of children growing up in an orphanage is the lack of one-on-one attention and love that they receive. So we take each child at Ekisa for a one-on-one date each week, to get them away from the orphanage even if it’s only for a little while. And this week has been full of super fun dates! I’ve been quickly getting to know the 22 kids that live at Ekisa. We took Grace (an adorable little BOY) to the hotel pool and he practiced swimming. I went on a date with Gideon to a café in town and he ordered soda and chocolate cake. I rode a motorcycle into town with Paul. We took baby Treasure to a restaurant on the Nile and watched the sunset. I played guitar for Arafat, Jackson, Tasha, and Shifra as they danced, sang, or rocked back and forth in their own unique ways. We watched Frozen with Rachel and Debra and had a slumber party.

Playing dress up with Rachel and Paul...my favorite little mermaid and superman

Swimming with Grace and my new friend Abby from London!

It's snowing on Mweru at Ekisa! 

Water play with sweet Misach!

            The more I get to know the children that live at Ekisa, the more I yearn for each of them to grow up in families that love them instead of in an institution that loves them. Because the truth is, no matter how beautifully painted the walls of Ekisa orphanage are, and no matter how well loved and hugged they are by their aunties and uncles and staff mamas, no amount of love from an orphanage can replace the unconditional love and goodness of a forever family. And yet again, God reminds me…there are no orphanages in heaven. God created children for families. I love Ekisa’s vision of placing all of their children into families and I love standing in the gap with them until that day comes.

Singing in worship with Arafat...this boy loves music!

Beautiful Debra first thing in the morning 

            It’s no secret that I’ve been pursuing a Masters in behavioral therapy so that I could better teach and love disabled children here in Uganda. It’s been 2 weeks here and I already know that using ABA (Applied Behavior Analysis) in Uganda is going to extremely different from what I had originally planned. In America, I can work on changing the behaviors of my students with Autism because I know that their tough behaviors stem from having Autism. But things are more complicated on this side of the world. A child may have a disability like Autism, but they could also be dealing with the trauma of being orphaned or neglected or abused in the past. Or they could be (and rightfully so!) acting out from the frustration of being institutionalized for the majority of their lives. Disabled children in Uganda face mountains upon mountains of obstacles and I can only continue to call upon the Mountain Mover who is Jesus to make a way when there doesn’t seem to be one.

Whispering the secrets of potty training with adorable Grace ;)

Kisses for Auntie

            But our God is one of miracles and He delivers them through anyone that is willing to say “Yes” to Him. And the amazing women that have founded Ekisa as well as the men and women that work at Ekisa full-time as social workers, nurses, administrators, and baby mommas have been saying, “yes” to Jesus and God has been moving mountains through them here. Ekisa’s social workers have been working tirelessly to resettle children into families, and so far a handful of kids have left the orphanage to go and live with their biological and local adoptive families! Ekisa has a community care program of over 50 families that empowers parents that are bravely choosing to raise their disabled children in a society that stands against them. The families come to Ekisa once a week to receive physiotherapy for their children and meet with other parents that are in the same boat. It’s only been 2 weeks, and already I’m seeing just how far-from-glamorous of a life it is ministering to families and children with disabilities here in Uganda. The kids’ cuteness is to die for, but every day I come home covered in slobber and food and other unmentionable things! The nurses spend entire days taking kids to the hospitals hours away and the teachers here teach using sign language and creative lesson plans day in and day out. Quickly I’m seeing that long-term missions is hardly always exciting or easy. It’s about waking up each morning to the everyday tedium, the every day monotonous tasks of feeding, washing, teaching, training, playing – and choosing to walk with Jesus one day at a time. It’s about trusting our Creator more than I trust in my own understanding. It’s about choosing joy over fear, and believing that God doesn’t make mistakes. It’s about fighting the desire to give up, and remembering that my Father doesn’t ever get intimidated my mess. He’s stronger when I’m weak. He doesn’t break His promises. It’s about keeping our eyes fixed on the Savior that loved us enough to take all our pain upon Himself, so that we could walk into victory hand in hand with Him.

Feeding sweet Tasha

Precious Arafat

I have found my Joy, it's the Joy of loving You.

Finally.....I am very much at home. 

 

It’s the 10^th day of my 3^rd summer in Uganda. It’s been a full year since I’ve set foot here. A full, hard heck-of-a year working full time by day while pursuing a degree in behavioral therapy and special education by night. After a year of feeling in a constant state of work and unrest in NYC, it’s good to be home on this side of the world where things move noticeably slower and the world feels as if it is blanketed in peace under the golden African sunlight. It has been pure joy for me to hug and dance and read books with the sweet kids I’ve loved and watched grow for the past three years. It is joy to respond to my sweet students calling for their “Auntie Jane” as they reach up to me for hugs and kisses. I notice they’re all a little bit taller and a little bit smarter (they’ve learned more English and they reach for tougher books to read :) and it fills me with unspeakable joy to see these children reaching for life in all their resilience, despite the poverty and injustices that surround them.

Dan was sitting on my lap when he grabbed for my pen. I thought for sure he'd scribble all over my notebook. Instead he started writing letters and sometimes full words! Most of his words aren't recognizable English, but he does speak multiple tribal languages and I will give him the benefit of the doubt haha. I always knew he was brilliant :D 

For the past 10 days, I’ve simply reveled in the joy of feeling home and the goodness of a God who loved me enough to bring me back into this beautiful place. Each morning and night, I’m overwhelmed with thankfulness that I get to teach and love His children here. It has been pure joy seeing my sister grow in faith while discovering her own place and her own stories in this country that never fails to bring out the best in the people I love the most. I’ve been reminded that the joy here is really deep, while the hard here is really hard. 

My sister meets the kids for the first time! The kids love her and she is just amazing with them! 

Discovering the magic of "Beautiful Oops." Possibly one of the best children's books ever made!

The little ones dancing at church 

Pure love in the girls' dormitory 

One day, I’m walking through a cornfield hand in hand with my past 3^rd-grader Sophie, who is now quite the fiery young lady, as we plan out her “happy birthday party,” which entails a trip into town for ice cream and a new pair of shoes. She wears a crown of flowers and she’s dressed in her Sunday best. “Sophie, are you a princess?” I ask her. She says, “No, I am a queen.”

In town for Kevin, Anisha, and Sophie's birthday party - they turn 12, 10, and 11 years old respectively! And yes, Yen that is your old dress! :D

That Friday night, I lay my hands on sweet Anisha’s head as about a dozen children gather around me. They all reach their hands towards this strong little 10-year-old as we pray for healing from malaria. We pray for healing to fall from heaven, right now in the name of Jesus. By Sunday morning, she’s leading dance at church and I see that contagious smile of hers that I’ve missed oh so much. I say “Anisha, who healed you?”

 “Jesus” she says, with a smile so big her little face can hardly contain it.

In the afternoons here, my sister and I use our violin and guitar to play children’s worship songs in English, Swahili, and Lugandan. One of my prayers for this summer is to be able to lead people in worship and so far, we’ve been doing it almost every day! When we play at the orphanage, dozens of children as well as teachers and staff gather around to listen, sing, and dance with us. Children and adults from the surrounding town peer in through the gates to listen and worship with us too. As we sing and dance so unreservedly, the presence of God pours out of the orphanage and into the streets of this small, simple town of Busia – straight into the homes of families and into the nearby shops. Sometimes, we play music at the house where we stay and children from the neighborhood wander in to worship with us. Isn’t that exactly what Jesus loves to do? He seeks out the poorest places and transforms them into sources of Joy. He reveals Himself first to the orphans and the widows. He uses the weak to lead the strong.

Singing "Jesus loves me" with our neighbors Treasure and Jordan, as well as my sweet old friend Shamim. 

Dance party at the house!

Worship at the orphanage

My greatest joy since returning to Uganda has been seeing the miracle and life that is Mukisa Alex. Alex is the bravest, most resilient boy I may ever know. His name means “Blessed Warrior” and all of us at the house agree it is the perfect name for this incredible child of God. I was introduced to him two years ago, as the small quiet boy that would always sit front and center of my 4^th grade class. He always had cotton balls sticking out of his little ears. He loved writing letters, and during drawing time, he’d ask for a ruler so he could make perfectly straight lines. 

Alex in my Primary four class two years ago :)

He told me about the chronic pain in his ears, and the difficulty he had hearing from time to time. God moved mountains before our eyes and we were able to take him to the hospital to receive the proper treatment. Last summer, Alex experienced healing for the first time and years! I watched him grow in confidence and strength in the last few weeks before I had to leave. It’s been a year since I last saw him, and I thought for sure the once chronic infection would have reappeared by now. But King Jesus is also a Healer. Today, Alex is fully healed. He break dances like a pro and plays three drums simultaneously during church. One day, I picked up my phone and saw that he had taken about 20 selfies while making funny faces, and I cried cried and cried with joy knowing that he is finally free from pain and able to access the freedom that God created him for all along. 

Alex playing 3 drums at our welcoming ceremony...absolutely beaming. 

Alex modeling :D. This boy has my heart. 

Alex tells me he wants to be an ear doctor when he grows up. He wants to heal other children’s ears in Uganda, because that is what God did for him. He might just grow up to be the best ear doctor Uganda has ever had. God turns suffering into compassion. I know Alex will never give up on his patients. He can understand their pain and their battle fully.

“Alex who loves you the most?”

Jesus, he says. Jesus loves me most. 

The way Jesus loves us is so very different from what the world teaches us about love. The world teaches us that perfect love should be painless, effortless, and should result in “happily ever after.” But walking life with Jesus on this side of heaven is hardly any of those things. He walks with us through the storms. And when the storms get rough, He pulls us closer. And I am finding that the more storms God walks me through, the more I can say “I really trust you. I really really love you.”

Thanking God for baby Linda on this night. She nearly passed away 2 years ago of severe malnutrition. She is a living breathing miracle to all of us here. 

Baby Linda today. Full of sass and life!

So as my short 10 days at New Hope Orphanage come to a close, and my next 7 weeks at Ekisa home for special needs children begin, I’m choosing to say no to fear, and yes to Jesus. It’s a daily choice because it’s a difficult one. But each morning I choose Jesus and each night I give thanks. Thank you Jesus! Thank you for loving me enough to invite me into this beautiful country with you for a third time. Thank you for allowing me to use my education to improve the lives of your beautiful children with disabilities here. Sometimes I wonder how I came to love Uganda so much. I don’t think it was ever my own idea. I’m pretty sure that if it were just me, I wouldn’t choose this life. But when you fall in love with Jesus, His desires become your very own. I don’t know where my dreams end and where His begin anymore. Maybe they are exactly the same thing. 

 “I belong to my lover and His desires are for me.” {Song of songs 7:10}

My sweet student Shadrach. He has been recently complaining of pain in his eyes and trouble seeing well. We are taking him to the doctor soon and praying for God to move mountains. Please pray for this beautiful child of God - he knows the love of his Heavenly Father and we are all believing for healing. 

On earth as it is in heaven.

I can very clearly remember a time when I didn't want to live in Uganda. I remember sitting on the floor of my NYC room, staring up at the walls that are covered in photos of my children there. I absolutely loved what I saw in those photos but I found myself crying and begging Him not to take me back there because I was scared.

Somehow over the course of the past two years, God slowly removed the fear from my heart and replaced it with joy. I slowly began to see for myself that His calling for me in Uganda wasn't an interruption to my life, but an invitation into something much more beautiful with Him.

I did one of the scariest things I'd ever done this New Year's and told my parents I wanted to move to Uganda. I told them I wanted to use my education to love and serve children with disabilities there. 

For a long time I told God I couldn't do it. My parents grew up in South Korea when it was still a developing country. They both immigrated here and graduated with Ph.D's from Columbia in hopes of starting a better life for us. They left their families overseas. My mom hardly spoke English when she first got here. All this so that their children could grow up in a world of opportunity and comfort, and here I was preparing to tell them that after all they'd given up for me, I wanted to leave our secure life and go live in poverty with children 7,000 miles away. It didn't make any sense. I felt like I was preparing to slap them both in the face. It took me 3 failed attempts, 3 nights in a row of fasting dinner, pacing up and down the hall in between my room and my parents' bedroom, 3 very close yet failed attempts at knocking on their door before I could gather the courage to tell them. 

"God, I don't know how to speak! I'm only a child," I said.

"Don't say 'I am only a child.' You must go to everyone I send you to and say whatever I command. Don't be afraid, I am with you and I will rescue you."

Then the Lord reached out His hand and touched my mouth and said to me "Now I have put my words in your mouth. See today I appoint you over nations and kingdoms to uproot and tear down, to destroy and overthrow, to build and to plant." {Jeremiah 1:6-10}

My dad threw himself on the kitchen floor and begged me to change my mind. His shouting shook every corner of the house and I was torn between calling 911 and praying to Jesus to come take me to heaven. He told me never to talk about it again. My mom (who was miraculously/surprisingly supportive from the beginning) and I cried ourselves into the New Year - literally through the countdown to midnight we cried at church and silently I prayed for a way out of this terrible nightmare that wasn't ending.

I escaped to my apartment in NYC and found myself kneeling in the same spot I had two years ago when I begged God not to send me back to Uganda. This time I begged Him for the opposite. My heart swelled and ached for the beautiful children I'd grown to love so much there. 

Life is hard no matter where you are. It's hard in America and it's hard in Uganda and I choose the hard in Uganda. I choose to love the children in Uganda because God cared enough to show me how much He loves them. He loved me enough to put me on a plane to Uganda 2 years ago. He loved me enough to lead me into one of the world's top schools for studying Special Education. He loved me enough to give me a job working with children with special needs everyday, so that I can teach from a place of experience. He loved me enough to break my heart over His children with disabilities who are often locked between houses, kept out of schools, starved and abandoned on Uganda's roadsides because the devil is a liar and he brands them with labels like "cursed, worthless, and demon-possessed."

Those children belong to Jesus. 
He taught me that they are His rare and beautiful treasures.
They are not mistakes. 

For 5 months I begged God for answers and all I heard was silence. My dad sunk into depression and denial. I was treading water in a storm. I stopped talking about Uganda. I stopped focusing in school. I stopped feeling excited about life. 

Last week, my dad walked in on me making teaching materials for my trip to Uganda this summer. It was 4AM and I was cutting handmade flashcards while watching a beautifully made documentary on children with special needs in Uganda. "You really love those kids, don't you" he said. I told him of course I do. "God's really going to use you there, I can tell," he said. I put down my scissors and looked up at him. "I don't want to be the one to stand in between you and your dreams anymore," he said. He told me to move for a year and a half after I graduate next May 2015. He told me to use that time to figure out if Uganda truly holds a future for me. Miracles don't always have to involve the blatantly supernatural. Like blind eyes being opened or the dead being raised to life, but in my opinion this one came pretty close!!

So next year I get to move to Uganda. Am I uncertain about this? Yes. But my only job is to cling to Jesus and rest in the certainty of who He is. Am I scared? Yes! But His perfect love casts out fear. I often look at the mess of my life and wonder why God wants to use a sinner like me. I often sit in the dark and wonder why He loves me enough to get on the floor with a bucket of clean water and wash my dirty feet. It's a downpour of His Grace. 

The way my daddy loves me is inherently deep and real. But it is also an imperfect, incomplete version of my Heavenly Father's perfect love. We live on a broken side of heaven. We were all created for a different world, a better one. And because of that, I inherently carry a deeply rooted understanding of what is heaven and what is not. 

I know that in heaven, no child is ever sexually trafficked. I know that in heaven, children don't ever die from malaria before their 5th birthday. Children don't drink dirty water in heaven. They drink from the stream of Life. There are no orphanages in heaven. Children live in forever families. Children with special needs don't hide behind houses in heaven. They are celebrated and treasured as children of the King. They sing and play and dance in the house of their Creator.

I want to see glimpses of heaven unfold in the lives of His children here on earth. 

I want to see His children lifted up off the roadsides, out of the dirt, and into the house of their Creator.

I want to see His children fall in love with the Life Giver. 

Last summer, I prayed to Jesus to heal my sweet 4th grader, Alex. He suffered from an ear infection and partial deafness for years and didn't have the resources to seek medical help. God used medicine to heal his ears and provided us with a charity that was willing to pay for two thousand dollar hearing aids. After all our hugging and singing and tears of joy last summer, I was so confused and even crushed to hear that his ear infection returned only a few months after I left. "But God, I thought you healed him. Doesn't healing mean the pain should never come back?"

"Alex" means "Defender and Warrior" 

He reaches out His hand and gently lifts my head to see His face. He quiets me with His love. When Jesus healed and helped and fed people, eventually they all got hungry and sick. Even the ones He raised from the dead eventually died again.

Jesus doesn't call me to save His children. He just calls me to show love to them.
And that love points them to Christ, the only One that can truly save them and fill their hunger forever. Slowly, I'm starting to understand.
It's my job to love and His job to save. 
I only get one life on this side of heaven and this is what I choose.
I want to spend my life pointing God's children Home.
Home to Jesus.

"For You open Your hand and satisfy the hunger and thirst of every living thing." 
{Psalm 145:16}

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