I just finished reading this:
an amazing book about a 22-year-old woman who has invested her life into living out Christ's love to the beautiful people of Uganda. God has blessed her with the privilege of raising 14 Ugandan daughters (she's in the process of adopting). She is daily pouring out God's love and compassion to everyone she encounters. This book challenged me in a lot of ways. Here is a brief excerpt to encourage you and hopefully challenge you too:
For eight months, Grace loved to take a bath. Then she turned three. Whoever named the “terrible twos” very obviously had not done three yet. Three is when all my girls learn to say “no.”
I don’t exactly remember when it started. One day, she just wouldn’t get in the bathtub. So I didn’t make her. I let her get in bed dirty that night. The fight just wasn’t worth interrupting everyone else’s bedtime. But on the second night when she refused to bathe, I couldn’t just ignore her again. She really needed that bath. So we began the struggle, and it continues to this day.
Night after night, we go through the same motions. The scene unfolds like this:. I ask Grace her to get into the bathtub, to which she quietly replies, “I don’t want.”
I, in my kindest, sweetest Mommy voice explain to her that she is three years old, that she does not always know what is best for her and she does not always get what she wants. I tell her that this is about her health and well-being; everyone has to take a bath! She just looks at me, not understanding at all what I am trying to say.
Not to be deterred, I try a different approach, saying excitedly, “Come on Gracie! Let’s go play in the bathtub!” At this point she blinks her eyes very fast, and big crocodile tears begin to run down her cheeks, another plea for sympathy. When she sees that the tears are not getting her anywhere, she begins to shriek, “No bath, no bath, NO BATH!” as if the water may indeed melt her.
I say it more sternly this time. “Grace. Bath time.” I lift her to her feet and half drag her down the hall to the bathroom. Her sorrow turns to anger. She makes her best “I don’t like you, Mom” face, folds her arms and plops to her bottom. “I DON’T WANT,” she shouts.
So I pick her up. She kicks and screams and eventually I get her into the bathtub. She flails around in there for a bit, letting me know with her wails that I am ruining her life and she may never be happy again.
And then a funny thing happens. As she splashes water on herself she remembers. She likes the bath. The bath is fun. Not to mention a really great way to get clean. In fact most of the time, she doesn’t want to get out of the bath. You see, the bath time struggle is not at all about the bath. It is about obedience. She is three years old and she simply does not want to obey. She thinks it should be her decision whether or not she gets in the bathtub. She is three years old and she is trying to figure out just how much control she has in her little life (at this point, not much).
Little disobedient Grace reminds me so much of me.
A year ago, Grace was not my daughter. She was a two and a half year old little girl who could not walk, speak or use her hands. She lived with her very old great grandmother who had a very hard time taking care of herself, let alone a very special needs baby. Her grandmother, hunched over and with little Grace strapped on her back would walk seven miles to my house and beg me to please take her burden, her child. And I would say, “No.” It happened at least five times. I didn’t know this woman and I didn’t know anything about her or her child, but I knew this: I was NOT having any more children. I was maxed out. This was it...I would give Grandma a bag of food and send her on her way. But sometimes, after I sent them away, I couldn’t get that little smile out of my head. Sometimes, that little smile would wake me up in the middle of the night. I would like to tell you that I prayed fervently about whether or not to take her. But I didn’t. I just told God straight, “I don’t want.” I told myself that eleven was enough, NO MORE KIDS.
Weeks passed and I forgot about the little lame girl and her great grandmother. About a month later I couldn’t sleep. I knew God was trying to tell me something, but I couldn’t figure out what it might be. I prayed and I listened. Finally the Lord whispered through my spirit, much more clearly than I have ever felt Him speak in my life: Your next child’s name is Sarah. So I began to pray for Sarah, wherever she was. I prayed and prayed. I dreamed of her; I longed for her; I missed her.
A few days later, Grandma showed up at the gate again with her not-so-little baby tied to her back. “Please,” she begged, “God keeps telling me to come here for help.” It finally clicked. “What is her name?” I asked. “Sarah.” The little girl beamed, looked up at me, and said in a squeaky little voice, “Mommy”. Grandma looked as if she had seen a ghost. “She has never spoken,” she said, astonished. We both just turned our eyes heavenward. Ok, God, you win.
I asked the grandmother to please make herself at home while I called my children to have a “family meeting”. We always talk and pray together before making a big change in our home. I always ask the kids for their opinion, but of course my sweet children never say no! They were so excited to have a new little sister, their only concern was that they would now have two sisters named Sarah, and Sarah was feeling a little uncertain about sharing her name. I promised that we would give her a new name once we thought of one that fit.
As I carried my new little girl into the bedroom and put her in a new dress, fear overwhelmed me. What does one do with a child that may never walk? How would I keep a semblance of normal life for my other girls? Would I have time to continue loving them enough while caring for a special needs little girl? Oh, what were people going to say? God simply whispered that His grace was going to allow me to raise this little girl, even after I had turned her away from my gate several times. Grace.
I took her to several doctors, all of whom said she had cerebral palsy, resulting from a lack of oxygen at birth. All agreed that while she may begin speaking (she had continued to utter only one word, “Mommy”) she would never walk. The fear still overwhelmed me. Some days I felt such sorrow for her poor little body, other days I felt anger. I wondered what life would look like from now on. And God continued to remind me that His grace would sustain me. And only by His grace, a month later my Grace began to walk...Today Grace can run. Her gait is still a bit awkward, but its adorable to see her moving quickly across the grass with her bright, determined smile. She can feed herself and use both hands, she can speak in complete sentences with her soft little voice.
I shudder to think what I could have missed in my disobedience. I am so thankful that God in His grace does not allow me to win. Because usually, the fight is not really about what He is asking me to do. It is not about the bathtub. It is about me, trying to figure out just how much control I have over my little life (at this point, not much). I would like to tell you that now I always do exactly what the Lord asks of me. I would like to tell you that I always seek Him first when a difficult situation presents itself. But sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I still think it should me my decision what I do with my life. He asks, and reasons, and encourages. He gently explains that I do not know what is best for me and that I do not always get what I want. And I just look at Him, not getting it. I whine and sob and shriek, just like a tired, angry three year old.
And so He picks me up, exhausted from struggling, and plops me in the center of His will for my life. And then a funny thing happens. As I kick and scream and struggle, I remember. I like being in the center of God’s will for my life. God’s plan is usually pretty great. It is a whole lot better than mine anyway. I am so glad that He does not allow me to win.
The more I strive to live in the center of God’s will, the more He asks me to give up, the more uncomfortable I become. He teaches me, over and over again, that He does know best. The “bathtub,” the uncomfortable places, they get only more difficult. But I am learning to remember, before I even get there, that eventually this will be what is best for me, and more important, what is best for His glory.
I think it hit home, not only because of the time we spent in Uganda in 2008, but Katie is very transparent when sharing about her struggles and the way that God is growing her and using her. She is an inspiration. To find out more check out her blog or read her book or watch this video:
