Bugs, Rain, and Yoga.

Rainy season is coming any day now. I can't wait to lay in bed at night and listen to the pounding of each drop on the roof of our tin garage. The dry heat seems to make the entire region sluggish too. My feet are permanently red and crusty. But there's something so African about riding through a wide open market place with a cloud of dust trailing behind you. I'll miss that.

I was given a gift, straight from the hand of God three weeks ago. If anything can demonstrate His intimate knowledge of me, it's that I find Him in yoga. And lo and behold, Mandala House. 

God used yoga to heal me, uses it to heal me. He expresses his love in it, that He has no boundaries to His interaction with His creation, with our bodies. That our bodies are ever as much part of His purpose and creativity as our souls. He created us in His image.

It's beginning to stir my heart, excite me, that the healing and solace I find every time I step on a mat is here, in a place special to my heart. My worlds continue to collide. 

But it's also one of those moments where the puzzle pieces fall together. 

I was left devastated by a broken relationship years ago, and you know how when you experience loss in life, there's this sudden urge to find a new hobby.

Yoga was mine.

I wanted to be REALLY GOOD at it. To prove myself.

But what ended up growing quietly in my heart was stillness and depth. God began to breathe life back into me because I was quiet enough to listen.

And here I am.

Broken.

Tired.

Dry.

And so I sit still. Give my heart room to expand. Open up my rib cage and let Life pour in.

Because when all I've done is put my nose down, passed through the week, scratched off my list, I don't let myself feel.

I'm like a preschooler during the holidays again, reading and absorbing any yoga books I can get my hands on, teaching, learning the anatomy of yoga, and thanking God continually for thinking of me in bringing Mandal to Gulu.

I needed it.

Now if only He would remember how much I love Cracker Barrel.

Just kidding.

Meeting with a group of child mothers this afternoon, can't wait to tell you about it.

Love, Chloe

p.s. have I told you how big African bugs are? (see photo above)

Rats.

Every time I write a blog post, it goes something like this....

Hey everyone it's me!


No.

The palm trees sway ever so gently.


No.

Then I finally come up with something abstract and profound enough to make you keep reading. The first line is stressful. Especially since your grade school teachers spent weeks on it, teaching you how to write "hooks".

Well, consider yourself hooked.

I haven't done a whimsy list lately. Little musings.

I've finally put my finger on the emotional roller coaster that I ride every time I step outside a building. People stare. Kids scream (say this out loud for its full effect) "Moonu, BYE-eeeeeeeee". School girls point and laugh hysterically like you aren't wearing underpants. Proposals are regular occurrences. It's fame. It's like being Rihanna. She just wants to be NORMAL, like everyone else.

Police stations here are as scary as they make them out to be in movies like Taken. Take my word for it.

Ivy eats rats. This little innocent, snuggle of a baby eats RATS. And not just once in a while, but two in one day. I didn't discover this till after I had already let her lick my face.

I get cold when it's 87 degrees instead of 95.

I'm friends with a New Zealander, a Brit, two Swedes, a Malawian (that's you Sarah..), a bunch of West Coaster's, and a lady from my neighborhood in Austin, Texas (not kidding).

The contact list in my phone suddenly has names like: "Creepy Police Man", "The REAL Mama Esther", and "Jamie British Doctor".

My Belgian roommate has me hooked on biscuits. What are biscuits you say? No, not Cracker Barrel biscuits, sweet, funny tasting graham cracker looking things. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

I was having dinner the other night to wish a friend good-bye, my shoes were off under the table, and half-way through my meal, I realize I am stroking a cat under the table with my foot.

Hunger Games soundtrack. Hallelujah.

So that's it. Light reading.

Then our mouth was filled with laughter, and our tongue with shouts of joy; then they said among the nations, “The Lord has done great things for them.” 

Psalm 126:2

Love, Chloe

Acres of Hope

We went to their homes in the slums this week. You weave through huts, narrow alleys between buildings and slip beneath a make-shift shower curtain door. They are so proud of their two-room nests, immaculately swept and decorated with old calendars, propaganda posters, and christmas tinsel. It's beautiful, really.

Home after home, we surrounded Salome, Justina, Jackie, Valerie, Christine, Bijou, Flora, Sarah, Niclette, and Elizabeth and lifted up their heartache and desperation to our God. He heard us too, all pleading on their behalf that He would intervene and rescue us.

Sarah is HIV positive and has developed a swollen lymph node on her collar bone.

Salome has been left with her three small boys to care for them alone.

Elizabeth's husband is a higher-up in the Ugandan army, so she lives in a larger house with twelve other people. Because of it, people think she is wealthy and abandon their children there. She takes them all in.

Christine's husband doesn't support her or visit.

Valerie has severe neck pain that prevents her from working on her jewelry.

Jackie has an abusive, controlling husband. We got to pray for him too.

Bijou is HIV positive.

And then there was the mad man. You have to laugh at first, especially when Christine, our Ugandan administrator says, "Last time we saw him he was totally naked. At least he is wearing clothes now. That's an improvement." He has a bloody gash on his cheek, barefoot. The community mocks and beats him, shuns him, casts him out. I don't blame them, as he is frightening and intrusive.

Then you look again. It hurt me to look into his eyes, because beneath the wild-eyed, foaming mouth, dirty, bloody face is a man who can't help the way sin broke his body. Then I think back to all the stories I read about the demon-possessed and lepers. Jesus literally embraced these people, just grabs them up in His arms. And I suddenly feel my humanness.

And what is crazy is that one of our women, our very own women, was like this man. The "crazy" one, walking around stark naked, mumbling incoherently.

Now she makes our best jewelry.

I don't tell you stories like these to sensationalize and use them to make you feel sorry for these women, for this man. Almost the contrary, they are part of your body, that you can pray for and advocate for. I pray that even a fraction of their resiliency becomes my own.

I try to only post donation needs that are urgent and hugely beneficial, and this is one of them. It's only $25 a month, and what's really neat, is that you get a necklace on your door-step every single month.

And the more women we have sponsored, the more women we get to take in. I can't wait to be able to go into the brothels, hug necks, and invite more women into a life and relationship of Freedom. And that can't happen until we have jobs to offer them.

There is a lot of hype around the war in Central Africa, Kony, and child soldiers. Be an educated consumer, pray for God's direction as you respond, and remember that where there is evil, there are millions devastated as a a result. Here is a very tangible, direct way to connect.

Imani Club

Thanks for all your prayers, they are very obvious in that the hedge around me is strong. I am praying that God stirs in our hearts to be a part of His return, and in that free those in bondage!

And now, here's what I'm going to do: 

   I'm going to start all over again.

I'm taking her back out into the wilderness 

   where we had our first date, and I'll court her.

I'll give her bouquets of roses. 

   I'll turn Heartbreak Valley into Acres of Hope.

She'll respond like she did as a young girl, 

   those days when she was fresh out of Egypt.

"At that time"—this is God's Message still— 

   "you'll address me, 'Dear husband!'

Never again will you address me, 

   'My slave-master!'

I'll wash your mouth out with soap, 

   get rid of all the dirty false-god names, 

   not so much as a whisper of those names again.

At the same time I'll make a peace treaty between you 

   and wild animals and birds and reptiles,

And get rid of all weapons of war. 

   Think of it! Safe from beasts and bullies!

And then I'll marry you for good—forever! 

   I'll marry you true and proper, in love and tenderness.

Yes, I'll marry you and neither leave you nor let you go. 

   You'll know me, God, for who I really am.

Hosea 2:14-20

Love, Chloe