A few weeks ago, I was walking through Kivulu. I was going through a narrow ally, on my way to programs. That part of Kivulu is the unseen part, even by those of us who work there. Its the dark part, where drugs are sold, and women sell themselves. These tiny streets are lined with doorways to the smallest mud houses you’ve ever seen.- they are literally the size of my bathroom. While walking, I came across a man with (presumably) his girlfriend or wife. He had her by the arm, and she was sobbing. He was hitting her hard in the face and head repeatedly. He was drunk.
Last week, I was walking through the same part of the neighborhood when I came across a woman and her young daughter. The girl was probably 10. She was cowering under her mother, who had a stick and was beating her with it, seemingly as hard as she could. The little girls screams made me cringe.
This weekend, at the land, there was a commotion at our neighbors house. As me and the boys walked back from the soccer field, we could hear shouting and crying. Sure enough, the neighbor boy (about 13) was being beaten. Apparently he had been wandering around the village when he was supposed to be fetching water. His mother had a huge stick, and was striking him again and again. It lasted a full 15 min.
My boys show the scars from abuse like this. They’ve had their flesh burned off, and their heads split open. They’ve been poisoned. They’ve been tied up and beaten, or tied to trees and left to die in the jungle. They’ve seen and suffered horrific things. Its easy to tell when a dog has been abused. You may raise your hand to throw a ball, or to pet it, and the dog cowers before you. I have seen this same effect with my boys; a sudden hand raised for high-five makes them shrink from me. This kind of abuse makes me sick. You may think you know what it looks like, but your imagination does not do it justice. Until you’ve heard the blows (real blows, because its nothing like in the movies people...) you cannot know how hideous it is. In America, children are seen as sacred. They are cherished, often spoiled. And while that may be to extreme, its closer to the truth. In Uganda, children are worthless. They are a burden. They are expendable, and punished like animals. In America, women get abused, but there is help for them. The law recognizes this is wrong, and there are safe places for them to go. Here, its the norm to beat your wife. Powerless people take their anger out on those even more powerless- usually children but often women too. I hate it. I hate that people feel so powerless in the first place, but I also hate that others suffer for it. It does however, remind me how amazing God is.
God, who is the Almighty and Most High, has all the power. And He does not abuse it. He is a God of mercy, love and comfort. His fierce love protects. His grace covers all. Jesus suffered abuse and pain so bad they had to make a word for it (excruciating= crucified). My job here is to love these boys, who have mostly only known pain. They haven’t seen real love, or a gentile hand. But I have, because of my parents and my family. But also because I know Christ. And so here I am, to offer, quite literally, the hands of Christ. Hands that heal, and comfort and love. Because maybe, if they can see that I can love them, and that my hands offer love and protection, then they will also see my heart. And if they can see and believe that my heart truly loves them, then they can see the Lord working there- they can that all these things I offer them are not mine, but are actually God reaching and working through me. I am here so that they may know the true character and heart of the King.
Last week, I was walking through the same part of the neighborhood when I came across a woman and her young daughter. The girl was probably 10. She was cowering under her mother, who had a stick and was beating her with it, seemingly as hard as she could. The little girls screams made me cringe.
This weekend, at the land, there was a commotion at our neighbors house. As me and the boys walked back from the soccer field, we could hear shouting and crying. Sure enough, the neighbor boy (about 13) was being beaten. Apparently he had been wandering around the village when he was supposed to be fetching water. His mother had a huge stick, and was striking him again and again. It lasted a full 15 min.
My boys show the scars from abuse like this. They’ve had their flesh burned off, and their heads split open. They’ve been poisoned. They’ve been tied up and beaten, or tied to trees and left to die in the jungle. They’ve seen and suffered horrific things. Its easy to tell when a dog has been abused. You may raise your hand to throw a ball, or to pet it, and the dog cowers before you. I have seen this same effect with my boys; a sudden hand raised for high-five makes them shrink from me. This kind of abuse makes me sick. You may think you know what it looks like, but your imagination does not do it justice. Until you’ve heard the blows (real blows, because its nothing like in the movies people...) you cannot know how hideous it is. In America, children are seen as sacred. They are cherished, often spoiled. And while that may be to extreme, its closer to the truth. In Uganda, children are worthless. They are a burden. They are expendable, and punished like animals. In America, women get abused, but there is help for them. The law recognizes this is wrong, and there are safe places for them to go. Here, its the norm to beat your wife. Powerless people take their anger out on those even more powerless- usually children but often women too. I hate it. I hate that people feel so powerless in the first place, but I also hate that others suffer for it. It does however, remind me how amazing God is.
God, who is the Almighty and Most High, has all the power. And He does not abuse it. He is a God of mercy, love and comfort. His fierce love protects. His grace covers all. Jesus suffered abuse and pain so bad they had to make a word for it (excruciating= crucified). My job here is to love these boys, who have mostly only known pain. They haven’t seen real love, or a gentile hand. But I have, because of my parents and my family. But also because I know Christ. And so here I am, to offer, quite literally, the hands of Christ. Hands that heal, and comfort and love. Because maybe, if they can see that I can love them, and that my hands offer love and protection, then they will also see my heart. And if they can see and believe that my heart truly loves them, then they can see the Lord working there- they can that all these things I offer them are not mine, but are actually God reaching and working through me. I am here so that they may know the true character and heart of the King.
No comments:
Post a Comment