During the first few months I lived in Uganda, in fall of 2007, I wrote, “Sometimes working in a Third World country makes me feel like I am emptying the ocean with an eyedropper.” Today, it often still feels that way. I have learned to be okay with this feeling because I have learned that I will not change the world. Jesus will do that. I can, however, change the world for one person. I can change the world for fourteen little girls and for four hundred schoolchildren and for a sick and dying grandmother and for a malnourished, neglected, abused five-year-old. And if one person sees the love of Christ in me, it is worth every minute. In fact, it is worth spending my life for.
Many days, I am still overwhelmed by the magnitude of the need and the incredible number of people who need help. Many days I see the destitute, disease-ridden children lining the streets in the communities I serve and I want to scoop up every single one of them, take them home with me, and feed and clothe and love them. And I look at the life of my Savior, who stopped for one.
So I keep stopping and loving one person at a time. Because this is my call as a Christian. I can do only what one woman can do, but I will do what I can. Daily, the Jesus who wrecked my life enables me to do so much more than I ever thought possible.
People often ask if I think my life is dangerous, if I am afraid. I am much more afraid of remaining comfortable. Matthew 10:28 tells us not to fear things that can destroy the body but things that can destroy the soul. I am surrounded by things that can destroy the body. I interact almost daily with people who have deadly diseases, and many times I am the only person who can help them. I live in a country with one of the world’s longest-running wars taking place just a few hours away. Uncertainty is everywhere. But I am living in the midst of the uncertainty and risk, amid things that can and do bring physical destruction, because I am running from things that can destroy my soul: complacency, comfort, and ignorance. I am much more terrified of living a comfortable life in a self-serving society and failing to follow Jesus than I am of any illness or tragedy.
Jesus called His followers to be a lot of things, but I have yet to find where He warned us to be safe. We are not called to be safe, we are simply promised that when we are in danger, God is right there with us. And there is no better place to be than in His hands.
For as long as I can remember, one of my favorite Bible verses has been Psalm 37:4: “Delight yourself in the LORD and He will give you the desires of your heart.” I used to believe it meant that if I did what the Lord asked of me, followed His commandments, and was a “good girl,” He would grant all my desires and make my dreams come true. Today, this is still one of my favorite passages of Scripture, but I have learned to interpret it in a totally different way. It is not about God making my dreams come true but about God changing my dreams into His dreams for my life.
Today I am living the desires of my heart and I cannot imagine being happier; I cannot imagine living any other life than the one that unfolds before me day by day. But believe me, I am by no means living my plan. I thought that I wanted to go to college with my high school boyfriend, get married, have a successful career and children, settle into a nice house down the road from my parents, and live happily ever after. Today I am a single woman raising a houseful of girls and trying to teach others the love of Jesus in a land that is a far cry from my hometown and my culture. This is not a life that I dreamed up on my own or even knew I desired. I am watching God work, and as I “delight myself in the Lord” by doing what He asks of me and by saying yes to the needs He places in front of me, He is changing the desires of my heart and aligning them with the desires of His. As I go with Him to the hard places, He changes them into the most joyful places I could imagine.
It sounds beautiful, adventurous, even romantic in ways, right? It is beautiful. And the crazy thing is, it is so simple. Don’t misunderstand; it is not easy. But it is simple in that each and every one of us was ultimately created to do the same thing. It will not look the same. It may take place in a foreign land or it may take place in your backyard, but I believe that we were each created to change the world for someone. To serve someone. To love someone the way Christ first loved us, to spread His light. This is the dream, and it is possible. Some days it is excruciatingly difficult, but the blessings far outweigh the hardships.
I have absolutely no desire to write a book about myself. This is a book about Christ. This is a book about a Christ who is alive today and not only knows but cares about every hair on my head. Yours too. I cannot really even pretend to fathom that, but I know it is true. I know this is true because I have seen it so profoundly in the very short amount of life that I have lived. I have seen it in extraordinary miracles and in moments so mundane that they are easily overlooked. And that is why I am writing this book. I am writing on the chance that a glimpse into the life of my family and me, full of my stupidity and God’s grace, will remind you of this living, loving Christ, and what it means to serve Him. I am writing with the hope that as you cry and laugh with my family you will be encouraged that God still uses flawed human beings to change the world. And if He can use me, He can use you.
1
FALLING IN LOVE—WITH A COUNTRY
Sometimes it hits me like a brick to the head: My life is kind of insane. I am twenty-two years old; I have fourteen children, eleven of whom are currently being homeschooled. We so often have extra people staying with us—dying grandmothers, destitute refugees, or severely malnourished children—that I am forever doing a head count before I begin making meals. Most days, though, bumping along these red dirt roads in my sixteen-passenger van full of singing (or screaming) children, neighbors, and occasionally our pet monkey, seems completely normal—so much so that I have a hard time writing about it. To me, there is nothing very spectacular about this everyday craziness; it is just the result of following Jesus into the impossible, doing the little I can and trusting Him to do the rest.
Moving to the other side of the world and having a large family was never my dream or even my idea. But as I look back, I can see that God spent my whole life preparing me for the life He had planned for me—the people He placed in just the right places at just the right times, and circumstances I could never fathom would eventually be for His glory. For years before I went to Uganda, I had fantasized about doing something incredible for God and others; what I have learned is that I can do nothing incredible, but as I follow God into impossible situations, He can work miracles in and through me.
I first mentioned it—the idea of doing something outside the norm—to my parents in a serious way on my sixteenth birthday. To celebrate, my parents took me to eat my favorite food, sushi, at my favorite restaurant. It was a lighthearted occasion until I made a nervous comment that changed the mood completely: “I think I will spend a year doing mission work after I finish high school and before I go to college.”
The smiles on my parents’ faces gave way to blank stares and looks of confusion. The happy chatter at the dinner table ceased and my comment seemed stuck in the atmosphere. Silence.
I might as well have said I wanted to play quarterback in the NFL or fly to the moon. To them, taking a year to do mission work was about that far-fetched. It was completely unheard of in the Davis family and, I knew, probably unacceptable. My father had always been adamant about his desires for my life, desires rooted in his love for me and in his concern for my safety and well-being. As most parents do, both my mom and my dad wanted to do everything they could to guarantee me a successful, comfortable life, and they felt the best way to secure a “good” future for me was to provide me with a college education that would prepare me for a career.
A few minutes after I mentioned taking a year off to have some kind of adventure besides college, my parents recovered from their shock and responded in the best possible way; they didn’t say no. They simply said they were not sure about the idea, but they would think about it. I was convinced in my heart that my desire was right. I was ready to go; it was up to God to convince m
y parents.
Sporadically over the next eighteen months, I remembered this conversation and searched the Internet for the word orphanage so I could investigate volunteer opportunities. I never had Uganda specifically in mind. As my senior year in high school grew closer, I began applying to volunteer at several orphanages I had found online. A home for babies in Uganda was the first to respond and say they were in need of volunteers. I was excited and my parents agreed to allow me to go over winter break during my senior year, hoping I would “get it out of my system.” Their only requirement was that I find an adult to travel with me.
My parents may have been more clever than I gave them credit for. Of course, finding an adult who could take three weeks away from a job in the United States—and who wanted to spend that vacation time, including Christmas, in Africa with me—proved impossible. So I begged my mother to accompany me. When she realized how much I wanted to go and saw that I wasn’t giving up on the idea, she said she would think about it. She soon realized this trip was not a whim but something about which I was deeply passionate, and because she is a woman who genuinely wants her children to be happy and fulfilled, she reluctantly agreed to the adventure. Before long, her reluctance turned into anxious enthusiasm and she became excited to be the person who would share this dream with me.
In December 2006, my mom and I were on our way to Uganda, where we would spend three weeks volunteering in a home for abandoned or orphaned babies. During those three weeks, I lost part of my heart to a place I’d never been before. I fell in love with Uganda as soon as I arrived. After I woke up the first morning of our stay, I looked around and saw glistening bright white smiles against ebony faces; I heard happy voices, lilting language, and gentle laughter. I saw strength and depth of character in people’s eyes. I found Uganda to be a beautiful land filled with beautiful people.
Jinja, the city nearest to the village where I live today, sits nestled against the shore of Lake Victoria and at the source of the Nile River. Views of the lake and the river took my breath away when I saw them for the first time, and the explosion of color I saw as bumpy, vibrant, red dirt roads traversing the lush green landscape captivated me.
The people who called this fascinating country home astounded me with their gracious kindness and gentle ways. I watched, wide-eyed, as cattle, goats, and chickens roamed freely through the villages while curious children wandered among the shacks and makeshift businesses (such as little stores that sell canned drinks or washbasins or airtime for cellular telephones). In the town, I saw the kind of everyday life that happens in every society, in its own way, take place as people shopped along Jinja’s main streets, did their banking, or met friends and chatted on the sidewalk. When I went to the villages, I witnessed men and women shucking corn, cooking, talking among themselves, or simply sitting beside the road quietly taking in the happenings of village life.
Whether I was in the town or out in a village, children were everywhere. When they saw a person with a different color of skin, they giggled and shouted. Some ran toward me with glee, others shrieked and fled at the sight of a foreigner. Those who weren’t afraid of me grabbed my hands eagerly, as though we had been friends forever. It was easy for me to fall in love with them and with their country, its enormous beauty juxtaposing extreme poverty.
Most of our time was spent working at the babies’ home feeding, changing, teaching, and playing with the many children there. The children as well as the women who worked in the orphanage inched their way into my heart, leaving their little handprints all over it. I would never be the same.
I left Uganda in tears at the end of our trip, the country and the people now a part of me. I cried all the way back to Tennessee and knew that someday I would return. I was forever ruined for comfort, convenience, and luxury, preferring instead challenge, sacrifice, and risking everything to do something I believed in. I realized it as I bathed babies and changed diapers in the babies’ home, as I met older children and threw stones into the river with them, and as I did everything I could do to meet the basic human needs so evident around me. My heart had found its joy as I served the beautiful people the world calls “poor” but who seemed so rich in love to me. I have no doubt that God was preparing a longing in my heart for Uganda many years before I could even find this country on a map; there is no other explanation for the instant love I felt for this place and these people. Though the red soil eventually wore off the soles of my feet, Uganda never left my heart and was never far from my mind.
Upon my return to the United States to finish my last semester of high school I must admit I had become a bit obsessed with Uganda. I glanced at the clock during class to figure out what time it was there and daydreamed about what my friends in Uganda were doing. I talked about Uganda so much that I’m sure all my friends in the States wanted to tell me kindly to shut up. I knew I had to get back.
During my trip to Uganda, I met a pastor who had founded and ran an orphanage on the outskirts of Jinja. He was planning to open a kindergarten there and had asked me to be the teacher. The idea seemed a bit preposterous, as I had little experience teaching anything other than Sunday school, but he insisted I was the one for the job. Once I returned home, I realized I was prepared to do whatever I could to get back to my beloved Uganda, even if it meant suddenly becoming a kindergarten teacher.
By the end of my senior year, after many conversations and ample opportunities to see that I was serious about returning to Uganda, my parents had finally agreed to my postponing college for one year. I promised to spend only one year in Uganda and, when that year was finished, to return to the States and enroll in college. In the meantime, though, I had agreed to teach kindergarten in a small slum village outside of Jinja, Uganda. Though many of my friends and much of my family did not understand my desire to be so far away for so long, no one could dampen my enthusiasm. Every once in a while I felt nervous, but more often than not I could hardly contain my excitement for this yearlong adventure.
My dad, still unhappy that I was not going to college, never lost his fatherly concern for me. As a father who had worked to provide everything his only daughter had ever needed or wanted, he had many misgivings about the adventure I was determined to undertake. In fact, he refused to allow me to move so far away from home and stay for almost a year in a place he had never visited. So he decided to go with me to Uganda and stay for a week so he could survey every aspect of the place that so captivated me and make sure I was safe.
The morning my dad and I left, I remember waking up in my beyond-comfortable bed in my parents’ house, in our upscale neighborhood. In this place where most ladies paid good money to have their hands and their lawns perfectly manicured and many people had no desire whatsoever to go to East Africa, I ate my last piece of peanut butter on toast as all my friends flooded the only home I had ever known to say good-bye one last time, all of us sobbing. Saying good-bye to my best friends, the boyfriend I was in love with and hoped to marry someday, and my little brother for almost a year nearly ripped my heart out. Part of me wondered how I could leave all this behind, but the other part of me was so ready to do it.
The trip from the United States to Uganda is long, no matter which route a person travels. It is long through Amsterdam, long through London, long through the Middle East. I spent parts of the trip giddy with excitement and parts of it crying as I realized how long it would be before I saw my family or best friends again.
My dad spent the entire first week of my year in Uganda trying to convince me to get on the plane back to the States with him at the end of the week. He didn’t like the dirty conditions he saw; he didn’t like the evidence of disease in so many places; and he didn’t like the way some men looked at or spoke to a young white woman. He hated leaving me in this country so strange to him, but he could also see how happy I was there, and by the time he left, he knew that my heart was content and he was going home alone.
The next few weeks were full of joy and frustration. I slowly settl
ed into my room, no bigger than three-by-six feet, in the back of the pastor’s house. His home was on the orphanage compound, where 102 children, ages two to eighteen, lived.
I can’t really explain in words the love I felt for these children or why I felt it. I think many people would have looked at them and seen only their filthy clothes, the ringworm on their heads, or the mucus that ended up in a crust around their nostrils. They would have looked around at the dormitories of the orphanage with its smooth, hard cement floor where rats and cockroaches made themselves at home and been a bit disgusted. By the grace of God, though, I didn’t see these things.
The truth is, I saw myself in those little faces. I looked at them and felt this love that was unimaginable and knew that this is the way God sees me. The children would run to me with gifts of stones or dirt and I saw myself, filthy and broken, offering my life to the God of the universe and begging Him to make it into something beautiful. I sit here in a broken world, small and dirty at His feet, and He who sits so high chooses to commune with me, to love me anyway. He blinds Himself to my sin and my filth so that He can forge a relationship with me. And this is what He did for me with these precious children. He blinded me to the filth and disease, and I saw only children hungry for love that I was eager to share with them. I adored them, not because of who I was, but because of who He is. I just sat right down on that cold, hard floor and snuggled my nose into their dirty necks and kissed their fungus-covered heads and didn’t even see it. I was in love.