And the most vulnerable place for me to be pushed, mothering. Two of my kids are struggling, one with a difficult and misinformation-laden teacher, the other with just emotional overload and keeping up with assignments. Tears flowed yesterday. Neither even wants to invite any school friends to their upcoming Bdays remembering the hassle we got when we last tried to do that for Julia's Bday. Then today I had to tell one of my Ugandan boys that his hoped-for spot in a discipleship- intensive A level program did not materialize: only one boy from Bundibugyo was called on for interviews, and it was his friend instead. He started to cry, and my heart just broke too, as I put my hand on his shoulders and prayed for him. Watching kids bump into the world's hardness, watching them be disappointed, sense their limitations or inability . . is so hard. A Ugandan colleague whose work could really help us let us know he's moving away from this district, frustrated. It felt like every patient's mother today needed to ask me for money, and my sympathy for their plights (often these are girls who are teenagers themselves, and when they spend days without a visitor and are out of food, I know they are truly needy) tends to wear thin when it is overwhelmed by sheer numbers. To top it off, I was actually on my way out the door remembering to be thankful for the slight margin of survival provided by my houseworker who usually washes up breakfast dishes and sweeps the floors while I'm at work in the mornings (a more significant task on Fridays post all-team Thursday nights) when I received his message that his back was sore so he couldn't work today.
Well, Elijah ran, slept, ate, and found God in the wilderness. All good prescriptions for weariness, some we can do daily or weekly, others periodically. But right now the Birthdays are fast approaching (Saturday and Tuesday) so it is time to clean up and continue, to pray for Mutegheki's heart, to hope and cook.