bye mzungu

i will be boarding my plane in roughly 20 hours....that is such an odd realization. i am almost gone now. my time is up and i've said 98% of my goodbyes. last ones are my roomie emma, lee, estah, nantale and christine. i am getting picked up at 4:30 am tomorrow morning and heading to the airport. i'm nervous. i haven't felt nervous like this in a long time. this uneasy scary feeling about going home. i am so excited to see my family and james and gwenie and all the other people that will be there waiting with open arms...but part of me is literally terrified to leave all of these things i've come to know and understand as daily life. what an odd trip something like that is. having your life flipped upside down...getting comfortable and having it flipped right side up just a few months later. there is so much to process and so much to sift through. i am not ready for the reverse culture shock that i've been warned about so many times...but here we go. i'm coming home friends....

i'll see you tomorrow.... :0)

love you all. especially you james arthur


Love. Laugh. Look. Live.

amanda june

gumira mukukireza ne mukwagala

if you are looking at this posting you'll see plenty of pictures of my sweaty face, along side a beautiful Ugandan named Usha....

it's like usher...but gangster sounding

(mom and dad...he's a singer...and he dances like nobody's business...you wouldn't know him...and yes i intended to say gangster with an er...)

i bawled when i said goodbye to this little fella on saturday...

bawled...

i thought my eyes were going to be swollen shut...

he has touched my heart like nothing i've ever experienced...the second picture posted is from a different visit than the first one.

the first two times i went to see usha he wouldn't smile...

it wasn't until the last day of my second trip that i got him to smile.

i almost peed i was so excited.

by the third time i went (which was also my final time since he lives 4 hours away) he was smiling like he is in the 2nd picture. all the time. to see him smile is literally the greatest gift i've ever received (only second to the blessing the lord gave me in james).

teaching this beautiful little boy to play and laugh was so amazing.

i will never forget the way that he felt in my arms while he was giggling.

or the way he tried to kiss my cheek like i kissed his.

he is such a blessing...these pictures are a constant reminder of the beauty i have experienced in love.

i learned how to say something luganda because of him....it was this.....

Gumira mukukireza ne mukwagala

it means.
hold strong. have faith. believe in love.

if i were to sum up my trip for someone, it would be in that. when i got here i was shattered by the idea that i couldn't speak to these children completely because they didn't speak english. i am a talker, i always have been. frankly i'm alright at it. i have been blessed with being able to speak for myself and encourage others with my words.

if anything i talk too much.

i didn't believe i was going to be able to do one thing, for one child because of the language barrier.

i couldn't have been more wrong.

i learned a new language.

truth and love spoken only through action.

something we always talk about right?

it has been/was/is the most difficult thing i've ever done...

but the pay out?

look at that smile.

right now.

scroll down and look at it.

it is worth all of the sacrifice and struggle in the world.

and that is what this trip has been.

a new chapter of understanding and toil for the sake of christ.

as i'm coming to a close of this chapter i am seeing ahead to the next few years with true clarity of what Christ is demanding of me.

i can't wait to be a mother.

and a wife.

to the most amazing man i've ever met.

i can't wait to come home and love....just love people.

can we get back to the basics together?

just love.

love in the name of Jesus Christ

how beautiful that is.







I urge you to

Love. Laugh. Look. Live.

Always.

Amanda June

burudian refugees and beauty.

these are some pictures of some of my new pals...they are Burudian Refugees living in Uganda, they have started a drum troup and are rad. I've been to see them 2 times this week and I'm going agian tomorrow.

This is Ali, he is the leader and a rad kid, he drums dances and raps in swahili, he's my gangster.

ali again.

this is emma...emma is like 4'9'' he's a midget and can jump about as high as he is haha.

this is erik, erik thought i was in love with him because i was taking pictures of him....he was wrong. i told him i'm married...now he believes me.

this is liberat, he's rad and his arm is wounded from fighting in Burundi, so he is the manger for the troup. he takes really good care of us girls and says we're his very best friends. we love him.

this child was sitting on top of a hut that was covered in trashand finally...
this is my favorite picture i've taken since i've been here...this child was adorable.

Measure your life in love....

"Velvet Elvis:

Something Bigger.

I was in Rwanda a few years ago, and a group of us went hiking in the slums of Kigali with a woman named Pauline. Pauline spends her free time caring for people who are about to die of HIV/AIDS. She agreed to take us to visit one of her friends who had only hours to live. We hiked through this slum for what seemed like miles, and as we got farther in, the shacks became smaller and smaller until all we had to walk on were narrow trails with sewage crisscrossing in streams that ran beside, and sometimes under, the shacks.

Eventually we ended up in a dirt-floored, one-room shack about six-by-six feet. A woman was lying under so many blankets that all we could see was her mouth and eyes. Her name was Jacqueline. Pauline had become her friend and had been visiting her consistently for the past few months. As I knelt down beside her on the floor, I watched Pauline, standing in the corner, weeping. Her friend was going to die soon. What overwhelmed me wasn't the death or despair or poverty. What overwhelmed me was the compassion. In this dark place Pauline's love and compassion were simply...bigger. More. It is as if the smallest amount of light is infinitely more powerful than massive amounts of dark. The ground was holy."



If only I could articulate how much I desire to be that small glimmer of light when Rob Bell says:
"In this dark place Pauline's love and compassion were simply...bigger. More. It is as if the smallest amount of light is infinitely more powerful than massive amounts of dark. The ground was holy"

I want to yell at the top of my lungs "THAT'S WHAT I'VE BEEN TALKING ABOUT PEOPLE! THAT'S ALL I WANT" I want to show love to one person in a way that their heart is overwhelmed, and they see the beauty of life, love and Christ, even if for only a moment.

I can resonate today with this... Yesterday I did home visits to see the living conditions of my kids. to this little guys house..Joswa, if you want to see his shining smile look back a few blogs. He laid like that on my leg teary for most of the visit...he found out i'm leaving.. it was terrible

While there I told his family that James and I are going to sponsor him through school. Later in the visit I was made aware that he is HIV positive, something that nobody at Wolicami knew, especially not me. My heart shattered. I decided to walk around and take pictures of the house, my eyes were all welled up with tears. There I am, crying and taking pictures of a shack where 6 people sleep on two beds....in the midst of that, I took this picture and looked in the corner to see joswa making a goofy close mouthed smile.

I feel yet again like i'm about to break. My heart is in pieces and in that moment all I could do was sit on his bed and hug him...tell him i loved him and cry. The last thing I want to do, I want to run out of that house screaming and cursing this place. I want to pack my bags and head to the airport on the first flight back to normalcy. But rather God demands I dig in deeper and love more passionately. I am convinced that the only thing that will reach these people is unbridled love.
No limits.
No conditions.
No holding back.

But i'm tired. Do you ever get like that? Just tired of pain, despair, all of it. The first few weeks I was in, what volunteers refer to as, the "honeymoon stage". Things are rough, but seeing the smile of a kid wipes away the pain you just saw merely 30 seconds before. My mind has now moved past that, the resilience is beautiful and inspiring, don't get me wrong. However, death is still prevalent, poverty is still overwhelming and people are still lost.

I have found myself aching to be the glimmer of love. Just the smallest amount. I just want to touch one person. I can't wait to come home and, with a steadfast heart, continue to run hard after that goal.

"525,000 journeys to plan.
525,600 minutes.
How do you measure the life of a woman or a man?
In truths that she learned?
Or in times that he cried?
In the bridges he burned?
Or the way that she died?

You've got to remember the love...
Remember the love.
Remember the love.
Share love.
Give love.
Spread love.

Measure your life in love.
Measure your life in love."

Who would have thought RENT had it so right?

Pray for my strength and moral...my time is almost up and there is still so much left to learn.
Pray for my health....i'm really sick.

love you all

Love. Laugh. Look. Live.
amanda june.

Psalm 8:1-3

redemption

creation groans

creation reaches

if we are silent even the rocks will cry out to god

Psalm 8:2
"From the lips of children and infants you have ordained praise"




i love you and miss you all. my time is almost up and there is still so much more to see...so much more to learn and so many more to love.

Love. Laugh. Look. Live.
Aj

Displace me.....

I love Invisible Children. I support the work they are doing. I see daily the faces they are trying to show the rest of the world. I work with Acholi women, I have kids in my class that walked all the way from the Sudan to escape the genocide in darfur and the war in northern Uganda. I can't be with all of you that are participating in the Displace me event...here's how i'm attempting to be with you in spirit.

I work about an hour and a half walk from my house here in mukono. On behalf of the kids in my class from the Sudan and the night commuters, I have begun walking home daily from work, roughly the distance of the childrens commutes. While walking I don't drink water and I wear my sandles. It is only the slightest glimps into what these children do daily. I have been doing it for a little over a month now...all of that time added up won't even be the distance these children have been displaced.

Go. Be displaced. Try to understand.

I am going to walk from Eugene to Seattle this summer, that is roughly the distance that my kids had to travel. If you want to come....you're more than welcome.

Don't talk about change. Do something. Live changed.

i'll go where you send me...

I'll be your hands
I'll be your feet
I'll go where you send me,
go where you send me
And I'll try, yeah I'll try
to touch the world
like you touched my life
And I'll find my way
To be your hands

Now we all know these beloved Audio Adrenaline lyrics right?

My very first concert was the Audio Adrenaline/Supertones concert. Never did I think that moment would re-surface and inspire me.

The week before I left for Uganda, James and I went on a date with our dear friends Kim and Joseph. We went to a concert, the Audio Adrenaline farewell tour. Now if you know me, you would possibly be surprised. However, James and I really wanted to spend time with Kim and Joseph, so I went. It was there that they played the song above, I remember being so deeply touched that I could hardly sing along. Whether you like their music or not....what a message.
Being the hands and feet of God...such an overused term, yet, under lived out principle. I was touched. This week as i'm trying to muster up the energy to go out and love. This song, these words are rolling over and over in my mind. There are many things going on.. There have been riots this week. 6 people were killed in the first one...today a ton were injured. That's the 3rd riot since i've been here. I have to keep reminding myself this week that I asked for this call. I accepted it. Now I have to live it out....every part of it.

Love. Laugh. Look. Live.
amanda june

The best worst day of my life.

The best worst day of my life.

Yesterday.

I have never experienced such a range of emotions in one day. If you have not been getting my e-mails you have no basis for what I’m talking about right now.

Let me give you an over view. Last Thursday I went to a town called Jinja, it’s about an hour from my house. I went there to do some HIV testing on women that are involved in a group called PITEK, it’s apart of Grassroots Uganda (www.grassrootsuganda.com) We went to test the women, testing went pretty well. We tested 26 and 6 were positive. After testing a few of us wanted to go to a slum nearby called Masese. When I say slum, I don’t think that properly depicts the poverty and filth I’m talking about, but it’s the only word I can find to describe it. We arrived at Masese, and were immediately bombarded by screaming little children chanting “Our mzungus how are you?!” It’s quite adorable and we hiked for a bit with a woman who was showing us around. Now, this woman showing us around, was by no means a saint, she owns a distilary where they make UG Waragi, it’s a local gin. She employs women that work in the filithiest, smelliest, most disgusting place I’ve ever been, now these women work for 1,000 shillings a day….that equals out to just over 60 cents a day. They work with their children on their backs…the fumes in this place are so overwhelming, and they are covered in tar. So all that to say, this woman showing us around, Nicolena, was asking us to give these poor women money because they had nothing and were being exploited…by her? It was obnoxious, then she started asking to help all of the people with health problems. I say all the people because about 75% percent of the slum had some sort of an immediate health need. We then were walking with people begging for our help, having to say no. Heartbreaking. She told us that there was a little girl that needed us badly, she said she had some sort of a skin issue. She took us up to the top of this hill in the village where a woman was sitting with the most tragic looking baby I’ve ever seen. This child was a year and three months old, and looked about 6 months old. She is obviously a little black child, however her skin was turning white and melting off, she was so badly swollen that there were massive cracks in her arms and legs, when she moved she was in incredible pain but couldn’t even mustier the strength to cry. There was so much more than just a skin issue wrong with her and we could tell within minutes we needed to take care of her soon or she would die. The mother was trying to nurse her but they child was near unresponsive, when the mother would smack away flies from the childs face, she wouldn’t flinch and held a blank gaze the entire time. The most bizarre part of it all was that she was a twin, and the little boy twin was completely fine…no issues. We told the mother to get ready and we would take care of all of their expenses and put them up in a hospital. In the large group of children I mentioned earlier, there was one child that struck my attention as well. His name was Sharif, a normal looking boy with a limp, we looked down at his leg and saw the top of his foot. There was a hole about the size of a fifty cent piece all the way down to the bone. It looked as though there was some sort of a flesh eating virus in there….not good. There were flies crawling all over this open wound. We told him to get ready and we were taking him in. So, after all of that is said and done, we get the children on Boda Boda’s with us (boda’s are motorcycles that you hop on and pay the man like 50 cents to drive you around). We got them to the clinic and admitted them, the little girl needed to stay for three weeks, so we sent to get the other twin to stay there with her and the mother and covered all of the costs. The little boy however couldn’t stay, but he needed to be brought in everyday for 7 days, so in his situation, we paid all of the fees and gave the mother the transport money and had them explain that her son could lose his leg or die without attention. She said she understood and took the money and left.

Now fast forward to Wednesday. I am almost finished at Murchison Falls. I received the news that the little girl had died, via text message. My heart fell so hard. She is about the age of my very own niece. We all believed there was a hope that we had gotten her there in time. They diagnosed that she had a protein deficiency, malnutrition, malaria, anemia, and possibly TB. It was horrible. Right after getting the news I reached the top of Murchison Falls. Now if you haven’t seen Murchinson Falls I’m posting a picture for you. It’s the most beautiful, powerful, and majestic thing I’ve ever seen. It is where the entire power of the nile is forced through a 7 meter wide gap. It's incredible. I sat there in silence, crying, trying to sort out my emotions, my anger, frustration, confusion, love, desire for good. Sometimes it doesn’t all add up, and won’t no matter how long you sit and cry. God’s plan doesn’t seem to match up with his goodness. There isn’t a way to measure his plan with his gentle kindness, I’m not him, I don’t get it. So as I’m sitting there staring into the most awe inspiring piece of creation I’ve ever seen, I’m trying to swallow that we lost this poor little baby. She is the first that has died since I’ve been here. I had a 6 hour drive home to think, pray, cry and deal with it all.

Now to yesterday. We felt we should go to see the burial of the little girl and check up on Sharif. So, that is what yesterday was. First we went to the clinic and found out that Sharif had never been brought in for treatment, we were livid, this mother was ready to sell her sons life for 14,000 shillings (that is about 7 US dollars). We headed in to Masese to find Sharif, yell at his mother, and visit the baby’s burial. We were pretty scared that they were going to blame us, and western medicine for killing their daughter, mostly because they would only take her to the witch doctor when she’s sick. They didn’t, they were deeply grateful that their daughter died in a hospital in less pain. The little grave was just that, so little. We cried, in silence. We stood, in silence. We kissed the ground and let our tears make mud puddles out of the red dirt. We greeted the family and knealt to them (that isn’t the way it works, traditionally, the Ugandans will kneel to you) We donated some money to the family and tried to find Sharif. We went to his home and knocked, no one came to the door, however there was cooking food on the door step. Nobody would leave food burning and not be there. I at this point am ready to kill his mother or at least fight her good and hard. I refrain. We can’t find Sharif and are about to leave. At the road side, just two minutes later, we bump into his mother, she had been hiding from us. She then proceeded to tell us that she had JUST been at the clinic and Sharif was up at the house. She was in filthy clothing and would NEVER go into town dressed that way, she proceeded to tell us that she had JUST changed. We asked about the cooking food… “my husband is cooking” Now if you know anything about Acholi culture (the Acholi are the tribe from the north) the one thing you should know is this, men don’t do ANYTHING for women, EVER. Especially not cook, ever. I told her to quit lying to me and to give me Sharif. She did, we scolded her some more and told her we were reporting her for neglect and child abuse. The wound itself looks as though it was inflicted upon the boy and we were all suspicious of it. Sharif needed to meet with a surgeon and we couldn’t get ahold of the surgeon. African hospitals aren’t exactly up to standard. I carried Sharif about 3 km to the hospital from Rose’s house (rose is our African momma.) We waited and waited, they said they would call us when he got in. That wasn’t good enough so we demanded to know which hospital he was at. He was at one only 2ish km away. I picked up Sharif and started walking. We got there and found the Surgeon, Sam. Sam inspected the wound and set up a surgery for Sunday. He also said he needed to at least re-dress the wound because it was so badly infected and there was rotting flesh sitting under the bandage from last week. Apparently the hospital we were at was out of gauze…can you imagine that in the states…A hospital not having simple gauze to change a dressing? Never. Frustration was mounting in all of us. He asked us to go BACK to Rippon which was the other clinic we were at, he said he would meet us there. At this point I’m dripping in sweat and my body is aching beyond belief because he’s a normal sized 8 year old kid, not exactly the weight of a feather. I picked the poor little guy up again and walked BACK to Rippon. We got there and had to wait for an hour for Sam to show up. He finally arrived, Sharif is tired it’s 5 p.m. at this point. I carried him back into the room and Sam starts to clean the wound, in order to get it clean enough to wait til Sunday he needed to scrape out some of the rotting flesh. No local anesthesia of course. Now up until this point Sharif and I had been buds all day. Shoot, I was carrying him around like a little princess in my arms and he was getting candy all day. The doctor went into the wound with an instrument that looked like a miniature spoon. Sharif didn’t know what was coming and let out a shrill cry into my arm. Now African kids are tough, they poured an entire bottle of peroxide on it and he didn’t flinch. But that spoon thing was a little too much. I remember as a kid saying that my mom hated me when she would hold me down for shots at the doctor, imagine that multiplied by a hundred. Sharif wanted to move his foot, I had to hold his legs down, then he tried to reach out and touch his foot. I had to hold his arms and body into mine and hold his leg steady. The other people with me asked if I needed help holding him down, however they both had tear filled eyes and I said no. I have never felt worse in my life. Ugandan children don’t cry and this kid was sobbing so deeply in my arm that it was drenched. I couldn’t bear it and I lost it as well. When all was said and done Sharif was shaking and weeping. It was the first thing anybody had done for him that would eventually save him. At this point however, all he felt was the pain. We needed to get him back to his village but first needed to stop by rose’s to drop off his information for his surgery as we weren’t going to trust his mother with it. I picked him up again and headed back to Rose’s while my friends waited for me at the clinic. My friend Gigi was taking him back to Masese and met me half way. We said our goodbyes and I passed him off to Gigi. I told him I loved him and he just smiled a little, his little foot was still shaking. I finished the way to Rose’s by myself, crying, tired, sore and frustrated. I sat down by the side of the road to compose myself. One of my feet was bleeding from the bottom and my arms were trembling. So here I am so burnt out, so tired, so confused and so hurt for this little boy…and all the while I’m so okay compared to this child. My life is perfect, even at this moment, in relation to this little guy. This moment where I feel like my body could just give out and I could die is NOTHING in relation to the pain he feels everyday. I have never been so tired emotionally, spiritually and physically.

If you know me, know me at all. You should know a few things about me. All I want in life is to be a passionate lover of Christ, a devoted wife and a loving mother. I want to provide a home with an open door policy, I want to welcome people to come feast, live, and learn with my husband, children and I. I had a pretty amazing model of that, for that I’m deeply grateful, especially today. I can only gather that it is because of those desires of my heart that this day was so difficult for me. It was the first time I’ve ever seen a child hurt so much or die so quickly because of neglect. Because a mother and a father deemed 7 US dollars more valuable than their childs life, because they don’t care about him, I had to hold him down. When I see stuff like that here I want to scream at the top of my lungs, shake, beat or kill these people. These “parents” that exploit their children, offer them up as a sacrifice for the family. How can you swallow that? I can’t begin to. I think it’ll be years before I fully recover from what I experienced yesterday. I woke up today aching, my heart, my soul, and my body. It was tangible this pain I feel for these people.

Days like today, and yesterday make the love I have at home so real. When I see these men that don’t love their wives, I see how much James loves me and am reminded at how lucky I am that he wants to spend the rest of his life learning to love me better. When I see a mother that would let her son die for $7, I see the passionate love of my mother, who has pushed me past every limit I have in me to make me a woman that is ready and able to live out love to others. Today I am sitting, when I woke up I couldn’t move because I’m sick on top of the rest of it all. I laid in bed and cried. I stood up and then cried some more. I walked to the latrine and cried. I have a feeling that will be the pattern. It’s not an unhealthy wallowing cry. Just a legitimate wake up.

I cherish and treasure the experience I had yesterday. I needed it. We all need that. Need to be reminded of how lucky we are, how out of this world, unbelievably, un measurably lucky we all are. My first response was to call james, my sister, my mommy, gwenie, millie any of my favorite people to talk to…and I couldn’t. I had to do this one alone. I needed to experience these emotions alone…Yet the craziest thing happened…my mom, gwenie and millie called me. Nuts huh? They all called and could only talk for a couple of min…but it was long enough to say an I love you. That’s all I wanted. All I needed. When I submitted my will that I wouldn’t call, they did. God is so good. He is so real, even in the slums, even in the pain, the confusion, the lost, the found, the weak and the desolate. He is here, he is alive and you should be grateful. Grateful is such an overused word…but we have so much grace, and freedom. Live a life with a reverent attitude. Grateful of the gift, because it is just that, a gift of life.

Please don’t read this and think I’m a martyr, I only explain my pain so you can understand how frivolous it is in comparison to the reality of a pain filled life. Mine is just a few days.

I love you all, more than you can dream to understand. It is real, it is deep and it is true.

The following are pictures of a few of the things I explained.

This is the main street of the slum we were in. That is trash, broken bottles, and ripped papers on the ground. The houses were made of sheets of tin and mud.

This is the distillery. You can see the fumes, but they are nothing compared to the tar that covers the ground and the stench it lets off.

This is a picture of a woman working in the distillery with her baby on her back.

This is the little girl we lost. We didn't even know her name but we all mourned the loss of her deeply. RIP little one.

And this is Murchison Falls...the place where God showed up and shook my heart to the core.

Thanks for your time, love, prayers and support.

love you all.

Love. Laugh. Look. Live.

Amanda June

i don't play favorites...

this smile keeps me going on my rough days.
I am in love with this child....despite trying NOT to play favorites he is on my lap all day everyday or hugging me or taking pictures with me...i am such a terrible volunteer lol.
more of my favorite.... :0)
I taught nantale to say "quit creepin" now she give you this look when you tell her to "give em the creepin look" we took turns :0)

that one was hers
my turn





so this week i learned how to say i love you in luganda so i could tell joswa that i loved him (the little boy) he is a full orphan and i don't think anyone has ever told him that they loved him. he jumped up and danced around and hugged me...he didn't even know how to say i love you too...he's never had to. it was one of those beautiful moments that i'll treasure everyday for the rest of my life. i think i'm going to begin sponsoring him so he can get a good education. it's so inexpensive here....like $200 for a FULL year of private school. anyhow if you think about it be praying for me on that decision. love you all.

lots of picture and too many words.

This is Mebbo, she is super sick and falls asleep in class often. I am taking her to be tested next week. She is adorable. Nap time :0)


This was on the road back from Namakuma...The drive in the bed of the truck to and from Namakuma is where I got my 2nd degree burn.
This is Joswa...he has quickly become my favorite kid in class...I want to bring him home. I think customs may frown upon it however.
This picture is for Millie, Marayah, Jody, Mary, and Mary Anne...the kids get a KICK out of it and generally throw it when they first push it haha.
This is a picture from an IDP camp in Kitgum. These huts were burnt down. This particular camp had not had an issue with the LRA in almost 3 months...however the huts have yet to be re-built.
This little tyke was from the IDP camp, he has no clothing, no real home and no food.

This is another little boy that is no more than 3 years old wandering half naked around an IDP camp in 105 degree heat with no water


These two pictures are us looking over the border into the Sudan. I took them for my mommy cause she is mildly obsessed with sunsets and the sky.
there you go mama.


NOW onto my actual blog...it's long...get ready

Some have asked what I’m learning….you asked for it…so here it is::

It is so easy to see suffering, to only set it back down or toss it in the back of your mind like a picture in a national geographic. I’m finding It is the opposite that Christ demands. He is demanding that we reach out, touch it, hold it, wipe the runny nose of the orphan, hug the crying widow, and feed the child with the pot belly from malnutrition. Rather in our nature we flee from the challenging, uncomfortable, awkward, truths that are everywhere else in the world. The complacency and comfort we Americans live in is so far removed from the reality of which the majority of the populous lives. Doesn’t that make you want to vomit, throw something, sell your car and move to the streets? Even that is illogical, as humans we believe that it is only by “drastic” “out of this world” movements that we can enact change. How arrogant are we? After seeing this poverty first hand, sometimes even tugging at my clothing asking for school fees, it is so apparent that the most tangible and real thing we can do is love the unlovely, not out of pity but genuine interest and appreciation. We have to set ourselves aside and love Christ first, others second and ourselves last. Imagine if we were all to truly put ourselves at the bottom, what Christ would do first and those in need as the focus.

What would happen?

I think we would all be shocked and unsure of what would be taking place, and how simple it is. It is beautiful, this mess we are trying to love and reach. In coming here the words “fix” “help” and “save” were firmly in my vocabulary as I talked about Uganda. Now upon being here, living, and seeing these people first hand God ripped those words from my vocab, slapped me upside the head and filled my mouth with a new song. One that is much more humbling and difficult.

The term “missionary” has come up countless times on, and before my trip. I am okay with that, I invite it fully, however I also feel like I’m fighting against the normal “mission work” stereo type. LIVING a true mission whether in Africa, or middle class suburbia is beautiful and honors our Lord of Lords deeply. I think most people can understand the stereo types and misconceptions I’m talking about.

Here is what I’m not doing, for the record:

I don’t have tracks in my back pocket ready to leave in the hands of all I see.

I am not staying in a different place than the people I’m serving.

I am not here to convert anyone.

Here is what I find I am doing:

I am trying to listen to their heartbreaking stories.

I am living in their community.

I am loving, touching, hugging and kissing kids that would otherwise not receive it.

I am attempting to meet the needs of these people on an earthly level.

I look in a mirror daily and have to choose to pick up the cross that frees us and bore our sins. In a place where you are treated like a celebrity you have to choose EVERYDAY not to be self righteous. They actually make it easy to believe you are pretty amazing here. Now It sounds like a simple choice, I don’t mean it to. It is the single most difficult decision I’ve ever made, along with everyone who chooses to live this way, and it has to be done everyday. There are so many days when I’m not properly prepared. I’m not ready, not able, not willing. Who isn’t? I speak from my own failure. I know that the statement “pick up the cross” is overused, I would be among the first to say so, here is more clearly what I mean. Anytime I attempt to explain Jesus to those who don’t know him, I find myself coming back to a few simple words (my own personal cliff notes of Jesus) “Well, he is the epitome of Love, Grace, Understanding and Humility” (not bad cliff notes if I do say so myself) So maybe a better terminology than “pick up the cross” would be “put on the character” I want to put on the character of Christ everyday. I want everyone to wake up and choose the fruits of the spirit and the character of my savior. I want the church to RADIATE Christ. If we are indwelled with the spirit why are we shouting about how much Jesus everyone needs? Why not whisper gently in the ear of a child, speak in kindness to the Muslim man, or listen with love to the hurting. Is that not what we are called to? I am finding the longer I sit and listen to myself and others around me I hear the same message. Wake up. Start living. More importantly start loving. I would be dead wrong if I said you could only live a mission for Christ in far off lands where poverty is all around you all the time. That is so far from truth, so please don’t mistake me. If you are comfortable and cozy in your home, you are only closing your eyes to the poverty, pain and lost in OUR nation. If you are living in a home with a car, you are richer than 98% of Uganda. So, granted a fact like that is hard to swallow. It burns and makes your heart ache. However there are thousands of homeless teens in Portland, but you don’t hear the stories often enough of people who move to Portland to do ministry downtown under the bridges because, let’s be honest, it’s not quite as “glamorous” sounding as “I’m moving to Africa to be a missionary” But those people need the love, grace and mercy of Christ as much as anyone else. I merely say all of this because I’ve been shown how ridiculous the accolades I receive sometimes are…I don’t deserve them. I’m human. I’m not god’s gift to this world (he already sent him once, I’m just supposed to look like him.

After being here my eyes have been opened to a lot of things. I didn’t choose Africa because I wanted the tearful goodbyes, and wonderful letters from my family (although they were beautiful). Those were some of the hardest moments of my life, reading and hugging and saying goodbye was terrible. I now see the validity of it all, it has given me strength and courage to “put on the character” rather than to take the easy way out. I am living and playing alongside the unlovely. It’s not easy, but I’m no martyr, they are teaching me more than I could begin to teach them. I am awake for the first time in my life. I am impassioned truly and frustrated thoroughly with who I am, and partially was. I am fighting to become the woman God intended but I recognize that is not a 3 month journey. To sum it up, there has been a change in my perspective. I’ve been gone from home a month and this much has changed? Man, our God sure has a sense of humor.

I am excited to come home and fight alongside you to get back the beauty of community, Christ, and the church.

Love. Laugh. Look. Live.

Amanda June

These are a few pictures from house of hope... and other things uganda

THIS little one is Nantale she is the girl I talked about in my very first e-mail. She is beautiful and I love her dearly...we play everyday. :0)

this is actually of my class room not House of Hope. As you can see from the picture it is a small small room that is split into two and the children are all but on top of one another.

This little guy is HIV+ has malaria and is malnutritioned...that stomach is fully because of sickness

This is the little boy that fell asleep on me...i didn't want to ever leave him :0(

this is the same little boy. he never smiled in the three days i was around him.

"so we keep waiting, waiting, we're waiting on the world to change..."

well hello again friends.. this is my first post since i've been in Uganda. However I don't intend on updating you on the past two weeks as that would take far too long. Here is what I can tell you. I am already a different person than I was upon leaving. I am a different person than three days ago. I am being stretched, challenged and it's all for the best. I love it, hate it, laugh, cry and sit in silence and scream at the top of my lungs on a daily basis. My roomates and I are so different, but it's so good. Since being here i've begun to take the words "fix" and "change" out my vocabulary. I can't do any of those things, nor should I. This place has immense need, that is a fact. There is a need for love, a need for a child to laugh, there is a need for compassion. There are no words that will properly describe for you what i've experienced here. Everything from Acholi women from the north doing traditional dance, to seeing a child beat in a classroom. Life is so real here, so raw. Invisible Children....wow, i've watched it again since being here, it looks just like my streets. So intense. I am going up to Kitgum which is even farther north than Gulu, from Kitgum you can see where the LRA come in from the southern Sudan, see homes that have been ruined. All of it. I leave on thursday. For those of you who didn't hear, the LRA decided to finally re-join the peace talks. We have all been living in an awkward state not knowing what is happening in the north the past week. The seize fire ran out and we've all been waiting to hear of attacks. Then this morning news came that Joseph Kony is going to the Sudan to join peace talks....talk about a relief. Also in other news...I'm going to the Invisible Children bracelet campaign office. We live just ten min from it. Rad? I think so. For those of you who didn't read earlier. I have been sick this week...no need to discuss the details, just very sick. I got a 2nd degree burn on my shoulder (the anti malarial i use makes you sensitive to the sun) annnd it got infected cause i'm an idiot and didn't take care of it. Oops. I am okay now though. I have fully settled into life here. I love it. I act like a ugandan, you will laugh at me because i speak slower/broken/british sounding english...I don't know why, but we all seem to. I wish I had the time to write everything that has happened on here, but I don't. I wish I had the words to write everthing that has happened on here, but I don't. I am at a loss for words...if you know me well you know that is ab-normal. I can't wait to come home and can't wait to come back. Life is so good. I am doing so well. I am praying for you all. Love you.