Counting

We made it. We made it through the final goodbyes, the airport send -off, the dentist appointments, immunizations, Kampala craziness, too much sugar, and the trip home with me behind the wheel.

The Folkerts family flew back to Canada on Sunday night. There were real tears on my girls’ cheeks as we turned away and walked down the tarmac ramp to the airport parking lot leaving the Folkerts and their fifty bags behind, forgetting even to take that one last picture together in the mayhem of final hugs. There have been quiet tears since, forlorn looks and serious subdued conversation in the back seat about how lonesome Karamoja will be now. How quickly loss can age us!

We have already been talking about this departure for months. My girls are no strangers to goodbyes, and hellos, in fact they’re pros. Yet this one feels different. They’re getting older, more aware of what will be missing, more demanding of what they expect life to provide for them, and there are no similar distractions. This is the first time they will be the only kids on the mission in their lifetime. I feel utterly inadequate to the task of guiding them through these emotions. Thankfully the task set for me is not to solve the emotions, but to wait. To wait on the Lord to renew our strength, to make the path straight and we will not be put to shame. To wake with anticipation eager to see what the Lord will do today, in this God-ordained, God-given, God-ordered liminal night leading unto day. How sharply loss can focus us!

I find myself inadequate for many tasks these days. The Lord is ever so gently burning away at my homemade armor to expose my weaknesses. Though it scorches and I, not infrequently, cry out, it is putting me in my place. On my knees. From that lowly vantage point, I am looking up and counting my blessings. The imagination of my girls that weaves stories out of thin air, makes a village of paper dolls out of napkins, a steering wheel out of a baby toy, and a queen of their little sister. The quiet and primely located Airbnb, a solace in a hectic city. The glance I caught in the rearview mirror of one sister asleep in the other’s embrace. The enthusiasm they expressed and maintained throughout a trip to the dentist! The kindly traffic cop who made a way for me to turn through gridlock. The clear road for passing a slow truck. The successful pass. The husband who is willing to do the hard things, with a twinkle in his eye. One by one I count them. And the fear ebbs. Fear not, for I am with you, says the Lord.

Gaps also create opportunity. This is as true in ministry as on narrow roads with slow trucks! With the departure of the missionary pastor, the local church and Ugandan pastor are stepping into leadership. This is an exciting next step in the church in Nakaale. The church is also getting connected with other churches, not just vicariously through the missionaries, by applying to the Reformed Church of East Africa (RCEA) denomination. There are countless little and big issues to work through, sort out, prioritize and improve upon – all prime opportunities for the devil to confuse and divide us. Also, fertile ground for smelting souls.

Loss is a rhythm of life. It will always be there. At times it deafens everything else. At others, it is hardly noticeable. It will always run through us sin-bearing creatures in this world not meant for sin. It draws our longing upward to the Promise Keeper who is working in deeper, more beautiful, more profound ways than we can conceive. This loss has given me the opportunity to not only count our blessings but the ways that the Lord has made our path straight over our years in Karamoja. We have never been disappointed by His plan, although it rarely fits into our expectations or timing. May our eyes continue to see and our ears hear the great works of our Almighty Redeemer! 

What are you counting today?