The Blessing from Uganda

I was so blessed to be able to take several of my children, along with my niece Tona, and her oldest daughter, to listen to a children's choir from Uganda.

What a treat! The children were traveling with the African Renewal Ministries as ambassadors for their hometown villages and the ministry that has impacted each of their young lives. They were ages 9 to 14, and I fell in love the moment I saw their dark faces and beautiful shining eyes!

These children came with sad stories of their lives of poverty, AIDS and hunger. They sang their hearts out and recited beautiful words of the Bible, in testament to the ministry that brought them words of salvation in their darkest days.

Most had lost parents, survived extreme poverty and know what it's like to go to bed on empty tummies, without a loved one to tuck them in and offer them hope for tomorrow.

They were rescued by the words of strangers, offering food, warm beds and a word of hope. They were not alone.

I was so blessed by each of their songs, these talented youngsters that had so much to cry over, but stood before us with wide smiles and a song in their hearts.

They danced, paying tribute to the Americans who provided food. They beat their drums, raising young voices to the sky in praise of their Father God who has met their need for food and shelter. They shouted with enthusiastic voices for the opportunity to thank their supporters, and the hope of gathering more people who could give a portion of their income to send to a far away country, so that their villages would have a hope for their futures, too. We are connected in this big world.

At least 600 children have been privileged to get this type of support that allows them food, schooling and the knowledge that someone a long way from their homes was concerned about them. Concerned enough to do something for someone else.

My Nicole was moved, as I was, to give what she had to give. I have carried their songs and beautiful smiles in the deepest part of my soul this week. I have prayed for them, asking MY Father what HE would have me do to alleviate the suffering of a child I may never meet, in a town I will probably never travel to.

I know the people in Japan are suffering greatly. The devastation is immense. Lives have been lost, ruined. I have prayed and my life has changed in the past year that I have held up the Haitian people before God in prayers, midst their pain in the tragedy of the devastation they suffered last year. I hear the stories of suffering, loss and grief. It moves me deeply, knowing my offerings to be so small, even insignificant in the monumental scheme of world suffering.

But on this night, I also heard the story of hope. Of Love. Of belief in a God who has never failed. A peace in the midst of life's storms.

Henry, one who benefited from the support of people he may never know, is such a man. He speaks softly in his home village in Uganda, but has a big voice for his people while in America. He loves Africa, his home. He is grateful for America, the people who gave what they could give, so he could LIVE.

He told us of a time when he was nearly blind. The glasses provided by a missionary had broken. In his country, losing his eyesight in Africa would be the end of providing for himself, his best option would be as a beggar on the street. He went away to pray, seeking God to restore his vision. God, in all HIS infinite power and grace, restored Henry's sight.

Henry, bringing us into his circle to pray, is thankful for his eyes. He was healed because GOD had a plan. As Henry speaks and prays to our small family group, he is bold and confident in Christ Jesus. God had a plan. Henry is part of that plan.

Henry prays for the child that has captivated our hearts and minds in Liberia.
Henry prays for our family, our health, our concerns.
Henry, as part of God's plan, holds our hands as he intercedes on our behalf.
God is using Henry.

My Meredith was fascinated with Henry's hands. They reminded me of the long, strong hands of my oldest son, Scott. She repeatedly counted his fingers...1,2,3,4,5. He laughed as he held up his other hand, allowing her to count all 10 of his lean fingers again. In the simplicity that Mere is known for, she said, satisfied, "your fingers are just like ours!"

Just like ours. Henry was just like us.

Had Mere' been born in Africa, she would not be the curious 7 year old who is growing and thriving.

Who would Henry be, had he been born on American soil?

I know we will never know those answers, but the thing I DO know for sure, and carry confidently in my heart is this: God spared Mere's life for a reason. HE has a plan for her.

Just like his plan for Henry. A man who walks with God.
A warm, kind and soft spoken man, who is grateful he can see.

And I am grateful that in God's plan, I met Henry. I will probably never see him again this side of heaven.

How many more Henry's are in Africa, praying for something that I could give?

What can I give for Africa?