Zula's Big News

many of you know my undying passion for this little girl. but what many of you want to know is, what is the big news?

well, friends, today i signed up to be Zula's sponsor!!!!

. . . . .

this morning i set out to the local coffee shop in need of prayer and guidance on what the next step for us would be. i wanted to help her the most beneficial way that i could find. from the coffee shop, i headed to the market to pick out a new dress to replace the tattered skirt and brownish/blackish shirt she would always wear. with no luck finding a dress, i stumbled upon an adorable Gap floral tank with matching pink Target pants all for $2.50 (did someone say, score?!). 

when i arrived to CRO, i was a little bit late for worship and all the kids were inside...all except one.

she greeted me with a warm hug and i pulled her aside to get her into her new fun and girlie outfit (which are the best ones, might i add). everyone was so impressed with Zula's new "smart" outfit. it was so nice seeing her glowing from all the attention and admiration. 

next, was definitely one of the hardest things i've ever done. i had to tell her i was leaving. 

we sat down in the office with a translator (Zula has never been to school so the only english she knows is simple and the small amount i've taught her).  i explained what i was doing, that i was going home and going back to school. that i had to work so that i could get the money to come back and see her again soon. i felt my heart rip out of my chest when she lowered her head and looked away from me.

but nothing a little tickling couldn't fix! i got her back to laughing in no time. finally, i decided i wanted to do a home visit and see where she was staying.

when we arrived to her village, the first thing i noticed was the distance from her home to CRO. they are about 10 miles apart. which results in about an hour to and hour and a half walk...everyday. she leaves her home at 7am and arrives home around 6pm. 

upon arrival, we were surrounded by absurd conditions. there were people drinking everywhere you looked...even small children. we pulled up to a small, one room building with a blanket for a door. there were two stools that they used for chairs inside, and the old lady came out to welcome us. this is her home. this is Zula's home. 

i greeted the old woman and thanked her for watching Zula (since her mother, father, and grandmother had all passed away). the old woman then told me she was actually not the well-wisher that Zula had told me about before. the well-wisher gave Zula and her younger brother (age 5) to her last week and went to a village...not knowing when she will be back. 

we spoke with the woman for about ten minutes asking questions and answering hers. we explained that i wanted to help Zula out the best way that i could. finally, we came to the conclusion that i was going to put her in boarding school.

the boarding school is close to my parents home and is run by people from my family's church here in Mbale. we are taking her tomorrow to go back-to-school shopping and show her where she will be living for the next trimester! i am so beyond excited for her. i will even be getting a monthly report from her including anything she personally wants to send me. i am so blessed that the Father has placed this little girl in my life and plans on me being involved for quite a while.

so, yes, Zula and I will be together for a long time! she plans on staying with my family for the holidays  and i plan on coming back to visit her this time next year. it's kind of funny, i feel almost like a mom.

also, check out that super trendy/cute outfit! :)

A Little Rain

"a doctor!" she said. all smiles, as she's looking down at the table we are sitting at, rubbing her pointer finger across the wooden top with a flower behind her ear. i sit across from her silently, eyes blurred while studying her face, and can't imagine that i only know a fraction of His love for this little one.

today, Zula told her life story to me for the first time. 

. . . . .

nearly three weeks ago she came bouncing into my life wearing a tattered yellow skirt and a brown shirt, that at one time, was meant to be black. she started frequently holding my hand as we walked and, quickly, became attached to me by the hip. we gave each other wild flowers that we would pick on our walks to the park, just because they were her favorite. all signs of pain from her reality were masked by little girl songs and dances and giggles as we quickly became the best of pals.

weeks later, she is still the first to welcome me at the front gate when i arrive. she's still the one snuggling up to me in silence during every prayer, and that seven-year-old heart of hers is the reasoning behind that wonderful giggle each time we catch one or the other peaking. 

i hold her close and try to force away the thoughts in my mind that are full of anger and hatred towards the unfairness of her situation. leaving innocent, and helpless children to fend for their own is just not fair.

. . . . .

both of Zula's parents passed away within the last two years. her grandmother, with not much to her name, took her in...along with her other four siblings. she has 2 brothers and 2 sisters, who all range from about 3 years-15 years, Zula being the third born. a few months later, the grandmother passes on, leaving them here on earth with no family except for their brothers and sisters. 

these 5 kids are currently residing in a small, covered area on a property belonging to a woman a few villages away from where she grew up. of course, she would not be much of a caretaker to American standards, considering she doesn't provide food or education for the children, but i am glad that the woman was nice enough to offer up a part of her home to help the best way she can.

right then, Zula's book is lying infront of me with pages turned. now she sits here with a pen in hand and starts onto the next page in her story. 

so here we are, sitting in an office with a social worker and myself. the mask is removed now and from behind it, I finally have seen where she had been. 

twisting the flowers that we picked earlier in the day on the table, she sits quietly. the little girl i once thought i knew, the one who sings pretty songs and dances when there is no music and giggles when i get frustrated was once a broken hearted little girl who has cried at night and screamed into her hands and pounded her fists on the ground wondering why this was happening to her.

after speaking to the social worker about Zula's story, i wanted to know some personal things about her. what does she like to do? what's her favorite color? does she like sweeties? i finally decided on the question i wanted to ask: "zula, what do you want to be when you get older?" 

so here i am. wanting to take her in and show her love and friendship. wanting to pick flowers with her forever and help her to forget the horrible past she had been through. but unfortunately, there is only so much i can do to help her right now.

 i just hope one day, she will find someone or something who makes flowers grow in even the saddest parts of her.

Of All The Paths

12 days

. . . . .

tuesdays + thursdays.
as soon as those brown rusted gates are widened, so is my heart. 

just imagine: all of a sudden, 180+ children start running towards you like they haven't seen you in years...when, really, it's only been two days. they then wrap their dirty hands around your waist and leap onto your back in all directions so that they can be the one riding on your shoulders. they  then all want to shake your hand and ask you how you are doing, all for the mere sake that they can speak your language and that, in itself, makes them proud. 

inside those rustic brown gates is where you find over a hundred children laughing and playing. where they are enjoying one another. where they are singing songs to the Father and worshiping together as one church. where you find sadness masked as hope. 

this is the place where they go everyday to forget about their reality.
                   living on the streets. 

when you walk just outside the gates, into that reality, you see children being laughed and yelled at. or in a trash pile picking up plastic bottles from the gutters in hopes of collecting enough to sell later on. or on a busy street corner, begging strangers to give them a few coins to get them by. 

i want to help them all. i want them to live a life they feel is worth living. i want to take them in and love on them everyday for the rest of my life. 

but i can't; and it hurts from the moment I wake up until the moment my head hits the pillow.

i want to teach them. i want them to learn. i want to tell them everyday how great and wonderful they are. i want to show them that there is someone that cares for them. i really just want to be the warm yellow light that pours all over them, the people i love.

our Father has taught me so much from these children in such a small amount of time. and even if i can't take them all in and be a mother to 120 children, I can teach them about Him. their heavenly Father who has been longing for them to know Him their entire lives. and that, friends, brings me joy.

although this path i've taken to uganda has been emotionally exhausting, i wouldn't have fallen more in love with these children any other way. we will spend these last few days enjoying each other, enjoying our Father, and trusting Him to do whatever He wishes.

of all the paths you take in life, friends, make sure a few of them are dirt.

Zula

she glanced towards a section of the field that was not occupied by children running ramped and looked at me with wide brown eyes. she grabbed my hand, along with my camera, and we took off across the field towards some small houses. 

we took fun pictures around every nook and cranny and enjoyed each others company and warm laughter after each photo that was taken. for most of the afternoon, it was just me and Zula. 

she loved having her photo taken. and i loved taking them. she picked the best spots. whether it was under a clothing line, against a tree, or beside a rustic door she could make any place become beautiful. as we searched for new spots to bring to life with her lively smile, she carried around a coin and a broken piece of a sunglasses lens proudly in her left hand and gently grasped my hand into her right. 

soon, the whistle blew and the afternoon had come to a close. on our journey back to CRO, she rode on my back singing songs of joy and love. she would sing and i would jump and we would dance like nobody was watching, when clearly they were. 

my heart broke leaving her there to go back to living on the streets. can't i just take her home with me?

as i'm sitting here writing this to you, i think about the moment when Zula took my hand and tugged me towards the other side of the field. the part of the field with all the fun backdrops shaped as houses. the part of the field where we spent the entire afternoon just loving life and each other.

Today it was me and Zula against the world. 

Fishing in Manafwa