dry

I went dry.

We spent a few days in a couple of other towns about 5 hours away from our home in Kampala. Towns that don't have much. People that have nothing.

Non-stop... holding people... hugging people... loving people... non stop.

I went dry.

There comes a time when it gets to be so overwhelming... the disease, the poverty, the orphans, the widows... there's so much... when does it end?

Does it end?

What the hell are we doing here?

Does it even help?

God, I hope so.



I think it does... I think just holding them does something to their souls that no medicine ever could.

I hope so, because we ran out of medicine. So we just held them... people who aren't used to being touched... we just held them.

I went dry.

That night during devotions I cried. "I love loving these people," I said, "but I've only got so much to give... I just want someone to hold me."

I did... I wanted to be held. That day I felt like I had nothing left. I wanted so badly to love some more, but I had nothing left. The last time I was truly held was on a bus ride during team two, when my Ugandan dad, Chris, just held me in his arms while I cried... my first cry of the trip. I've cried a few times since then... but that was the last time I was really held.

And that's when I realized... it's true... being held does something to our souls that no medicine ever could.

And that night we had devotions my team mates hugged me... some even held me.

And today... I held more people. So many children... I just held them... all day. And it wasn't by my own strength that they were held.

I know I should be spiritual and say "it was by God's strength," and I know it was... but He used my team to strengthen me. To leave them out would be to say I don't need them... and I do. I need community. I need to be loved.

And I'm OK with saying I can't do it all on my own.