In her five-year-old, unfettered, and un-theologized speak she said: “God told me I needed to tell you why I don’t like my birth country.”
Something which peppered our lives back home became medication during our six-week stint in Uganda, while adopting our second two.
The days when we weren’t out there chasing paper and when the power was on in our guest home, I turned on 5 or 10 or 15 minutes of worship music and asked the children to just draw what God brought to their minds.
“Something about this is necessary for right now,” I told Nate, one morning. I knew that this short stint was inviting healing, I just couldn’t yet put my finger on how. We’d done it back home, but here it morphed from the kind of habit that’s driven by discipline into one more fueled by need.
This particular morning, as each of them shared their drawings — one drew Jesus on the cross, one sketched the sun and the other peered over her sister’s shoulder not-so-subtly and created a duplicate, still reveling in this new sibling relationship into which she was now foisted — this particular child held up a drawing of {continue reading over here —>}
