Pots, deep and numerous

About a week ago the passage about the widow who collected her neighbor’s pots and found them filled with oil sank into my mind and heart, with the realization that we only see as much grace as we risk needing.  

Like faith, risking the need for grace is a concept that sounds noble but feels a bit like death.  And as so often happens, when the Spirit supplies such a direct message, the need to grasp onto that truth follows close behind.

So though it is only Tuesday, the depth and volume of my week’s empty clay pots feels cavernous.  

It could have something to do with the fact that our 23 bed ward is crammed with 37 patients, a half-dozen of whom should be in an ICU with their sky-high malaria parasite counts or purulent brain fluids.  It could also be related to the fact that yesterday we confirmed that over 30 kilos of sugar and a similar amount of beans have slowly leaked out of our nutrition store in the last two months, a cup here and a bag there spilling into a life-threatening hemorrhage of dishonesty.  Or the fact that a few hours after the painful meeting in which we asked for the staff to return their store key . . . We got a disturbing email from UNICEF that not only canceled their visit which we had prepared for that day, but also implied that the one disbursement of amazing therapeutic milk powder they had bestowed in April would not be repeated because we were not following their rules closely enough.  Since the stock had dwindled and we had been led to believe for the last six weeks that the next shipment was imminent, this was quite a blow.  In between these two gaping potholes, the entire S2 class from our school (actually the ONLY class in which I have no biologic or sponsored children, so it could have been a worse shock) was dismissed temporarily after another meal disaster was met by student wildness and rock-throwing.  In the process of processing that yet more issues surfaced of envy, abusive behaviour, layers of disrespect and misunderstanding.  Sigh.  The empty jars lined up rather quickly.

And underlying all these dry vessels, the reality that some major family changes are imminent.  Last week Luke was offered a spot at Rift Valley Academy, a missionary boarding school in Kenya, for 11th grade beginning in August. Though I’ve had our kids on waiting lists for years for vague future spots . . . The chances of one opening in high school are usually slim.  So not until now have I had to face the risk and loss of that separation.

As these pots collected, though, the oil began to flow. First and foremost, we stand in awe of Luke’s readiness to give RVA a try.  He’s made the decision to go, with our blessing, in a mature and sensible manner, one that shows he is more ready than we are for this milestone.  Then the dismissal of the unruly students proceeded smoothly and has already made a difference in the school’s atmosphere.  We continue to pray for real conflict and reconciliation skills to grow out of a grasp of the Gospel at CSB.  Then the nursing staff worked incredibly hard to shoulder the burden of overwhelming disease, and two of our best nurses showed up (surprise!) on break from their further schooling to pitch in and help.  And lastly, after a day of emails and phone calls and indecision, UNICEF agreed to meet with Heidi and me on Thursday morning to work out an agreement that will allow continued cooperation.  

So that flowing oil actually opens another gaping pot, I have only driven to Kampala without Scott a couple of times, and do not feel confident about the challenges of the next few days, or about leaving my kids or the hospital ward.  The collaboration which brings resources to desperate kids means I need to risk needing that grace, but I’d appreciate prayers for the trip and for immersion in oily grace.