New Blog Site!

Hey, friends!

Due to convenience and a few other factors, I have created a new blog website where I will be posting from now on. I'd love for you to click on over there and follow me! You can access my new blog here. Or go to: https://beautifulfeetfortheking.wordpress.com/ .

Blessings,
Alex

My Ugandan Sister

While I was in Uganda, I made a friend named Nancy.

It was our fourth day in Uganda and I hadn't been feeling very well since we'd arrived. I've concluded that it was a combination of jet lag, airplane food (which I have sworn to never eat again), and the huge level of excitement that I was actually in Africa. A large group of our team was going to walk to a some-what far off village to visit with an Acholi family in their home. I wasn't feeling physically well enough to go with, so I ended up staying at Abaana's Hope with a few other team members. I was extremely disappointed; however, because I stayed behind, I was blessed in a way that I believe God had planned out the whole time.

Me and the other few women that didn't go to the village had the opportunity to work with the jewelry ladies. We had all met with and heard testimonies from jewelry workers the previous day, however, this was a different group of women. The first group were women who took the beads already made and strung them to make finished pieces, while this new group actually hand-made each of those beads. Us "mzungus" (white people) introduced ourselves first, and then the Acholi women introduced themselves. We would say something short including our name, age, if we were married and if we had kids, if we were in school, etc. and Josenta, an Acholi woman who can speak English, would translate. I said something like, "My name is Alex. I'm 18. And I'm in college." As the Acholi women introduced themselves, it came to a younger girl's turn. She said, "My name is Nancy. I am 18..." and right then we looked at each other and smiled and giggled and instantly made a connection. She finished with, "I am not married and I do not have any children. And I work here and make money by making beads." For me, this was a big deal because I had not yet met a Ugandan my age. Most of the people I had met were either much older or very young. To know a girl who is my age that lives on the other side of the world, in a much different environment, was eye-opening.

Nancy, Rachel, Joesenta, and I making beads

Once everyone was finished introducing themselves, we got to sit down with them and learn how to make beads. Of coarse, I sat with Nancy. She patiently taught us how to wrap the thin piece of colored paper around the tiny bicycle spoke and how to hold it while curling it up and then dab it with glue. She laughed when we made disfigured beads and when we only had a few done as she was starting a whole new string of beads. When our bead unraveled before our eyes, she giggled and graciously helped us fix it. We would show her our beads and she would say, "Good" with a thumbs up, or she would laugh at our feeble attempts to make something that looks easy to do but is so very difficult when you actually try.

My Beads

Nancy can't speak English and I can't speak Acholi, and with only two translators, we didn't have many opportunities to talk. I do not know her life story. But I do know that it is much different than mine. I don't think she was ever abducted by the rebel army, but I do know that her brother was several times. I know that she works hard making tiny beads from paper to make money to help support her family. I know that she lives in a mud hut with a thatch roof and that she walks several miles to work and church. I know that she does not have the means to receive higher education right now. We do not have much in common when it comes to how we have been raised and the conditions we've grown up in. But we have this in common- we are both followers of Christ.

The Foot-Washing Bible Study (Nancy is on the right)

For the next week, we had planned a Bible study with the women of Abaana's Hope where we told them the story of Jesus washing the disciples feet and then we washed their feet, painted their toe nails, and gave them little gift bags with personal care items. I was adamant about washing Nancy's feet, and when that day came, I did.

As I wet her feet and scrubbed them with the soapy rag, I thought about the places these feet have been and the trials they've carried her through. Again, I do not know her whole story, but I know that it is much different than mine. I prayed for her feet- that they would continue to carry her, that they would be used in amazing ways, that they would be beautiful. And I painted her toe nails blue, because she said that was her favorite color. And we laughed and took joy in the fact that, although we couldn't really talk, our smiles were enough and we were connected through Christ. At the end of the Bible study, I gave Nancy her gift bag and we hugged and smiled again.

I thought that would be the last time I got to see Nancy; but I was wrong. On our last day of going to Abaana's Hope, I got to go to the home of an Acholi family, which I had missed out on the week before. We talked and ate the most delicious chicken I'd ever had with posho (which is basically cornmeal cooked in water to make a mushy white substance that tastes like nothing) and drank Grape Miranda (a type of soda there that is kind of like grape soda). We were almost done in the hut when out of nowhere, Nancy pops her head in the door with a baby on her hip. I was overjoyed to see her one last time.

In Uganda, people have a Ugandan name and a Christian name. I do not know Nancy's Ugandan name, but her Christian name is (obviously) Nancy. I do not think she knows this: In Hebrew, Nancy means grace. And she shows this in every way possible- from patiently teaching us how to make beads to working hard to support her family. And although she's probably had a more difficult life than most of us can imagine, she smiles. It is the most fitting name for her.

For some reason, God wanted Nancy and I to meet. For some reason, He tied our hearts together even though the language barrier is so great.

I believe that I am going to see Nancy again one day and that we will have the opportunity to sit and talk and really get to know each other, but until then, I think about her and I pray for her and I let her teach me what it really means to show grace. And I am so thankful that God used my illness to introduce me to my sister in Christ.

"Let us then with confidence

 draw near to the throne of grace, 

that we may receive mercy

and find grace to help in time of need." 

Hebrews 4:26

Where My Trust is REALLY Without Borders

As of October 17th, my college career has changed quite drastically.

I changed my major to nursing.

This may not seem like such a big deal to some; however, to me, it's huge.

Most people who know I've wanted to become a missionary always throw in things like,

"What will you go to college for"
"So are you gonna be a teacher?"
"Like an English teacher?"
"What about a nurse?"
"Are you gonna go to Bible school?"

My answer to all of these has always been no. I've never really wanted to be any of these things in America (a teacher, a nurse, etc.), so getting a degree as one of these has always seemed pointless because if I don't end up serving as a missionary, I didn't want to be a teacher or nurse. So I was a business major. I figured it would give me a background of basic things that could be used in several areas. It would probably be useful if I ever wanted to start a non-profit organization. And I've always thought owning a flower shop would be cool. So, business it was. Until now, that is.

For some crazy reason, that I do not understand in the least bit, other than it being the Lord, I began thinking about nursing school. Just a side note, I've never been interested in the human body. And although I've always made A's in science, I've never been to fond of it or been the best in class. You can even ask my mom- I've never mentioned nursing. So, you can imagine that thinking about the nursing program out of nowhere was pretty strange.

I began seeing billboards and Facebook posts and things all over about nursing. And then those things started including midwifery or labor and delivery. Then, I remembered something that happened while I was in Uganda.

One day on our way to Abaana's Hope, we passed a small building that appeared to contain one room. Someone asked Myron, the missionary we were with, what it was. He told us that it was the center where the women from the surrounding villages went to give birth. And then he told us that the only thing in there was a wooden table that the women gave birth on and that there were not many people who were qualified to birth babies and help women in labor. Of course that broke our hearts. I flippantly thought for a brief moment, "Hey, maybe I could do that!" followed by, "Haha... no. That's crazy. I'm not gonna do that."

A few days later, I was scrolling down my Facebook feed when I saw that Four Corners Ministries (the ministry for Abaana's Hope, whom I partnered with in Uganda) posted an article. About that lack of and need for midwives and birthing professionals. In Uganda. (Here is the link for those interested).

I literally sat down in the middle of my dorm room on my knees in shock.

I began praying, asking God why these things have been on my mind and seemingly everywhere I looked. And I began wondering if He was asking me to do something I'd never considered doing before. And slowly, through prayer- both on my part and trusted mentors- and guidance from individuals like my mom, I began to feel peace, and not just peace, but excitement as well.

And after much prayer and research and thinking, I changed my major.

I may not become a midwife in Uganda. I may not become a midwife at all. But I felt peace in changing my major, and I believe that was the next step God was pointing me towards.

And that brings me to the title of this post. Where My Trust is REALLY Without Borders. I'd be lying if I said I'm not scared and nervous and anxious about this. Honestly, I'm terrified when I think of all the science-y classes I'm going to have to take and that I won't be allowed to make any lower than a C in every class. I really know nothing about anatomy or health or nursing or anything like that. "Oceans" by Hillsong is one of my favorite songs. The first line of the bridge is, "Spirit, lead me where my trust is without borders. Let me walk upon the waters wherever You have called me."

Right now, this is where He has called me. And the waters look quite frightening. But I will keep my eyes above the waves and trust that He will lead me.

After all, isn't being in the place where our trust has no boundaries exactly where He wants us?

A Drive Through Uganda

It's been hard trying to decide what to write about for a new blog post. I decided a few days ago to read through some of the journal I had kept while I was in Uganda and one thing I wrote about, in great detail, was the 8-hour drive to Gulu from Entebbe and the daily 1.5-hour drive to Abaana's Hope. Now when we first found out that we would be on a bus with no A/C for 8 hours, I was not looking forward to it. But when the time had come and the drive began, I never wanted it to end. It was nothing like driving for 8 hours here in America, for two main reasons.

First, it was a new experience. Driving through a country I'd never been to before and looking out my window at the culture I had never seen close up and the landscapes I'd only seen in pictures was amazing. There was so much to look at- too much to try to look at by the time we had passed. We went through some busy cities, like Entebbe, and we passed numerous small towns and several tiny villages.

I had never been to a place like this before (of course, I'd never been out of the US) and everywhere I looked there was something new to be seen. For 8 hours straight I looked out of the window of a moving bus and absorbed as much as I could, taking hundreds of pictures. Shacks made from metal sheets, pieces of wood, boxes, pretty much anything you could think of. Animals tied to shrubs on the side of the road. Men sitting around a “table” talking and staring as we drove past. They looked stern and hard, but if you smiled or waved, their face would turn into one of the most beautiful and genuine smiles you’d ever seen. We saw women with a baby strapped with 2 cloths to their backs, carrying a jug or bundle of something on their heads.

Children everywhere. Rolling old tires on the ground, walking with cattle, carrying Jerry Cans bigger than themselves, babies carrying babies, some young boys riding bicycles with bundles of coal or straw attached to the back. My favorite part was waving and smiling as we passed a groups of kids and them smiling and waving back. Some would giggle and squeal at the sight of a “mzungu” (white person) and others would chase after the bus yelling, “Mzungu! Mzungu!” or “Muno!”

Second, driving in Uganda is nothing- NOTHING- like driving in the States. Our drive started with smooth, wide roads, but ended with nothing even close to that. The farther north you drive, the poorer the villages get, and the smaller and less-paved the road becomes. When there’s a narrow road in the States with no clear lines for 2 lanes, what usually happens is one driver waits while the other passes… Not in Uganda. Here’s what I wrote in my journal that night after the long drive,

“The roads went from being a little bumpy to being a crazy, bouncy, jolt-you-back-and-forth roller coaster. Rather than 2 paved lanes it was as if they paved straight down the middle in 5 minutes for the whole road. Potholes were any- and everywhere and the side of the road was a huge drop with jagged edges. This wouldn't be so bad, except Ugandans drive nothing like Americans. Rather than slowing down and taking turns, they keep their speed when there is oncoming traffic. The drivers flash their lights in a way signaling each other to move. The person who gets to drive on the paved part is determined by who gets there first. The other car runs off the paved road mere inches before hitting the oncoming car and is sent on a bouncy, loud flight, almost hitting the bush, until able to hop back on the road. It is terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.”

We experienced this kind of driving the whole way to Gulu.

I remember my mom asking how the drive was and I told her “I’d do it again right now.” Of course, she thought I was joking, until I told her how different and exciting it was.

The 1 and a half hour drive to Abaana’s Hope (and back) almost every day was similar as far as the potholes and bouncy ride go. It was still the rainy season when we were there, and when it rains, it pours. The dirt roads become big muddy lanes- “muddin” in Alabama has nothing on “muddin” in Uganda. If you wanted an even crazier experience, you sat in the back of the bus (the drive is not very enjoyable when you’re feeling nauseous or sore).

Our wonderful bus driver, body guard, and friend- Andrew

Just driving in Uganda made me happy. And I hope I described it in a way that made you feel like you were there too.

Beautiful Feet Wear Tire Shoes

One day while we were in Uganda, the women on our team went to the local market in Gulu. It's a huge outdoor "shopping center" where Ugandan men and women sell almost anything and everything you can think of- hand-made baskets, knives, old, raggedy clothing, produce, smelly, fly-covered fish, and... tire shoes.

There were several booths set up along the side of the market with huge stacks of tires- yes, the tires from automobiles. All different sizes and shapes and brands. We watched intently as men would sit on the ground or a wooden table and cut a strip of rubber from a tire. They would then cut out the shape for the bottom of a shoe, making different sizes for children, men, women, even custom sizes if you asked for it. They would attach "straps" to the sole with nails and sell them for about 3000 shillings, about $1.20. We were all so impressed by the uniqueness of the shoes and excited to buy a pair a a souvenir or gift for a friend. We were talking amongst ourselves, "How cool!", "I want to buy some to hang on the wall!"", "Wow, what an awesome idea for shoes!" We were fascinated, myself included.

But as we stood there watching, some waiting to buy a pair, I began to realize something. These shoes- they aren't just a souvenir. They aren't made for Americans to buy and bring home to look at. They weren't made with the intention of being unique or fashionable or comfortable. These shoes, made out of car tires, are made and sold, for what we would consider extra change, to people who can't afford anything better. They are literally made from thin rubber and nails and then worn day-in and day-out until they fall apart and can't, in any way, be repaired. This isn't some fashion trend for these people. This is their life. This is their reality. 

As we were leaving, still oooh-ing and aaah-ing over this new thing, Mrs. Holley, one of the missionaries with us, told us to look around when we are out in town or at the ministry land and we would see that most of the people in Gulu wear tire shoes. So I did. I looked around. And as promised, I saw feet shod with tires everywhere we went. I noticed something- most of the feet that wore these shoes were not physically beautiful. They were dry, dirty, cracked, wounded. Wearing shoes made out of nothing but tires and nails, how could they not be? But despite their physical appearance, I noticed something else- these feet were beautiful, not because of how they looked, but because of the heart of the person they belonged to. 

I saw people at church, jumping and singing and dancing and shouting, pouring sweat, in worship and praise to the Lord in these shoes.
I saw children laughing and listening and answering questions in Sunday school in these shoes.
I saw women conversing with each other, making jewelry out of strips of paper for a living in these shoes.

And all of these people had beautiful feet. Yes, physically not so pleasing to the eye. But beautiful, none-the-less, because of the blood those feet were cleansed with and the love of Christ that they showed. 

And that's what beautiful feet are all about:

"How beautiful on the mountains are the feet of the messenger who brings good news, the good news of peace and salvation, the news that the God of Israel reigns!"

Isaiah 52:7

And sometimes, these beautiful feet wear tire shoes.

Some Honesty Before the Beauty

 It's been almost three weeks since I returned from Uganda. What we experienced there was amazing. Breathtaking. Overwhelming. Several people have asked when I'd be posting again, and I completely understand wanting to hear all about the trip and the people and what God did, but honestly, I've had trouble trying to find where to even start.

How do I convey 2-weeks worth of beautiful Uganda filled with beautiful people filled with beautiful hearts? How do I express to you, the reader, through mere words the heart-wrenching stories, the hurt-filled eyes, and the juxtaposed joyful smiles of the Acholi people? How can I explain the importance of overseas missions? How do I even begin to tell you that there is more to life than our comfortable America dream filled with convenience, luxury, and security?


Honestly, I don't think I can.

For the past three weeks I've thought about where to start, where to begin, how to tell you all about Uganda and make it seem as though you're really there. I've wondered how to illustrate my experiences in words. I've thought about which stories to tell and what order to tell them in, what to include and what to leave out. And honestly, after three weeks, I still don't know.

So I'm just going to start. I'm going to start with the stories and the pictures and the Scripture and whatever else needs to be included. I can't promise that it will be eloquent or organized or put into beautiful paragraphs and perfect grammar. But I promise that it will be honest. It will be real. All of the good and all of the not-so-good. Whatever my heart is feeling, I will- to the best of my ability and however God chooses- tell you.

So, to begin, I'm going to be straight-forward with you. Uganda was not everything I expected it to be. It was so much more, in both good ways and bad ways. More joy, more beauty, more magnificence, more Jesus. More heartache, more loss, more poverty, more need. More adventure, more sadness, more exuberance, and more pain. Where there was happiness, there was also sorrow. Where there was hurt, there was also joy. While it was wonderful, it was also hard- in personal ways that I was not expecting. I was expecting to fall in love with this place and never want to leave. I expected to go and not experience any trials or conflicting thoughts (or at least not care about them). I was expecting to be so over-joyed that nothing else mattered. What I didn't expect was to be bombarded with discouragement, attacked with my own downfalls and lack of strength, and left wondering if I even have a purpose. I didn't expect to miss home. I want to be clear here- these thoughts were not caused by other people on my team. I believe they were thoughts from the devil, who wants me to feel discouraged and not good enough. I believe this was a small spiritual battle taking place in my heart.

About halfway through our stay in Uganda, I began to have these feelings. I would sit there and wonder: Can I really do this? Is God really calling me to full-time overseas missions? I'm not strong enough to do this. How can I be so far away from my family? I don't have what it takes. I'm too much of a princess to live like this. I'm not good enough. And what if I'm not supposed to go into full-time overseas missions? Do I even have a purpose?

Thoughts like this made their way into my heart, and honestly, like I said, it was hard.

But God has placed wonderful people in my life who reminded me of His truths: I have a purpose. And in actuality, I'm not strong enough. God won't make me "strong enough" because if I was strong enough, I WOULDN'T NEED HIM. God made me vulnerable and week and imperfect because I need to rely only on Him to accomplish His work through me. If it's a walk in the park and the easiest thing I've ever done- if I don't need to lean on Him to get me through even just a small part of it- is it really His will? I'm not strong enough... but He is.

Maybe full-time overseas mission isn't what He has planned for me. Maybe it's just part-time. Maybe it's just occasional trips. Maybe it's just not Uganda. But I know He has called me. I don't know where or when or what, but I KNOW He has called me. He has created me. He has formed me. He has a plan for me. He has designed me to do something amazing for His glory. He is molding me and shaping me to be everything He has created me to be.

I wanted to tell you these struggles that I faced in Uganda, because I don't want you to think it was easy. When you read my future posts, I don't want you to think I'm super strong or brave or anything like that. I want you to know that it wasn't all effortless and painless. I want you to know that I'm not perfect.

Now that I've dumped out all the bad, I can get to all the good. Now that I've gotten the "ugly" out, I can tell you all about beautiful Uganda. I'm excited to tell you the amazing things God did through us in Uganda and share stories and pictures of this breathtaking place. Some of the stories I may be crying as I write, and some of them may leave me with a smile spread across my face. And all of it is beautiful. Through everything that happened on our trip- from lizards and bugs in our rooms, to salvation for hurting people- God had a plan and I'm so excited to tell you all about it.

Thank you for reading my "honest" post. Check back later for the overwhelming stories that will follow.

"For we are God's handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, 

which God prepared in advance for us to do."

Ephesians 2:10

Worth It

As I'm packing for Uganda (WE LEAVE SATURDAY!), I can't help but think about the people I'm going to meet, the stories I'm going to hear, and the blessings I'm going to experience. As I anticipate this exciting journey of being the hands and feet of Christ, I think of the past mission trips I've been on and the blessings that He gave me through the people I was able to love.

I think about Olivia, the sweet 7 year old I met on my first mission trip to Mobile, Alabama in 2012. It was impossible not to love this olive-skinned, big brown-eyed girl who longed for love and attention. I remember sitting down with her and explaining what prayer was to this girl who had never heard of it before and telling her, "Prayer is talking to God- your Heavenly Father-whenever you want to or whenever you need help." "Like help with homework?" she asked, which made me laugh as I continued to explain what prayer really was. Being able to love on Olivia was one of the biggest blessings God had ever given me the privilege to have. I will never forget when I returned to Mobile in 2013, walked into the gymnasium at the daycare, and before I could even set my stuff down, had two chubby little arms wrap around my waist, looked down, and saw sweet Olivia looking in my eyes and straight to my heart.

I think about Elijah- The kid who was "too cool" for Bible games and silly songs with hand motions, the boy who was rough around the edges and would try his best to push me away, the boy who wouldn't participate in anything and only wanted to play with his GameBoy. This same boy was singing every song as loud as he could and grinning ear-to-ear at the end of the week. This boy, who had never owned a Bible, was so excited when we gave him one of his very own that he immediately asked how to find the week's memory passage and read it out-loud for our whole small group.

I think of Ana, the precious 6-year old, blond hair and blue-eyed little girl who's smile could immediately make your heart melt. She had told me on the first day that she didn't have a mom, that her mom had gone to Heaven. A few days later, she was walking with me hand-in-hand when she stopped, looked up, and said, "Miss Alex, can I tell you something?" I smiled and said, "Of course." And then, looking in my eyes, she said, "If my mommy were still here, I think she would be just like you."

I think about the woman who worked at the daycare. She was so overwhelmed and grateful that we would come from three hours away to spend time with a bunch of kids and teach them about Jesus. When we left, she had each of us write something in the front of the Bible we gave her because she never wanted to forget us.

I think of all of these people who I had the opportunity to love, to show Christ to, and I know that it is worth it. It's worth it to take a week out of my summer to love a sweet 7 year-old girl. It's worth going out of my way to see a tough little boy light up when we give him a Bible. It's worth running around with a bunch of loud, messy kids to have that one who holds your hand and warms your heart. It's worth dealing with grouchy adult daycare workers to show them Christ and see just one of them see why we do what we do. It's worth it because Christ is worth it.

And I know that it will be worth it in Uganda. Going to another country, raising thousands of dollars, doing several Bible studies and cultural studies, travelling across the world, possibly having no AC, no WiFi, the risk of diseases, the hot, humid climate, wearing skirts when I'm used to wearing shorts, going to a foreign place and meeting foreign people, eating meals that may not be the best, going out of my comfort zone, leaving the safety and security of my home... all of it will be worth it. Every last "sacrifice" will be worth the unmatched blessing of showing the love of Christ to others, of giving of myself yet somehow gaining so much in return.

I have found something worth dying for. Christ is worth dying for. And for me, He is also worth living for.