Ebenezer Stones of Remembrance

We all have places in our lives that serve as stones of remembrance, or Ebenezer stones. These are places that have seen the mundane moments our lives, the ins and outs of routines and rhythms, the joys and sorrows, and the continual themes as we walk through life. These are places that have seen our life when it is peaking with anticipation and also when that expectancy is dashed upon the rocks (perhaps more than once), and left us a new creation as a result. It's places that we go back to time and time again because we need to be reminded of steadfast Truth when the waves are crashing us against the rocks. We don’t always get to choose these places, but God gives them to us over time (and sometimes time and time again) as vessels for Him to speak His grace to us so that we will remember who He is and how His overarching goodness is the true theme within all of our stories.

Arrival to Uganda (2013)

Saying Goodbye to Uganda (2016)

There is a guesthouse in Kampala, Uganda, that is one of those places for us. We stayed there recently on our return trip to Uganda to say our goodbyes and make our final move to Kenya. With all the logistics we’ve been consumed with in making this trip, I was not anticipating how much déjà vu I was to experience in returning to that old place. With our mint green Toyota Prado sitting in the driveway for the last time, I was reminded about our very first night we spent in Uganda (the night before we purchased that beloved vehicle). Derek got food poisoning and spent the night throwing up in the bathroom, then woke up the next day hung over the toilet and jet lagged from intercontinental travel with a 3yr old and 1 yr old, but still went out to test drive what would become our first beloved family car in Africa (now that's a scary thought, y'all. I guarantee that man could not have been more impaired than if he had spent the night out drinking! Maybe it was grace that we drive on the opposite side of the road here, lol...) That thought led me to recount how many times since then one of us has spent the night in that very bathroom with a GI illness (and how I was glad the toilets were actually really low to the ground for that very reason… and for the fact that it was easy for little people to get on and off by themselves). I’m pretty sure all 4 of us have been sick in that place at one point or another. As my one-yr old crawled over to the screen door to look outside, I had a flashback to Olive’s silhouette in the same doorway, same age, doing the same exact thing- looking out at the great big world beyond the small front porch. How much more my now-little-4-year-old has experienced since the days when she would do that on our frequent stock-up trips to Kampala. ...The dust on those slick tile floors always seems to stick to your feet, no matter how many times they are cleaned. ...And, oh, that finicky water heater…if you don’t turn it on 2 hours before you need the shower, you are out of luck. But you have to remember to turn it off again so you don’t run up the power bill! ...And the beloved clothes drier…I would always bring my stretched out, line-dried clothes with us when we went to Kampala, for the sole reason of shrinking them back to size again in the drier at the BMU. It was a miracle from heaven!

2013

2016

 I could list a dozen other déjà vu moments that are tied to the BMU Guesthouse in Kampala, but probably the most life-shaping one that took place within those walls was when we lost our pregnancy there two years ago tomorrow. I remember lounging on the porch furniture and talking to a friend about obstetricians in the country the day before we found out I had miscarried- laughter and lightheartedness marking our conversation. I remember the couch I laid on when we returned from that appointment, grief overwhelming me for days as we waited for the inevitable end to happen. I remember pacing in that driveway in the evenings, having long medical conversations with our area directors about how to channel the muddy waters of miscarriage in a foreign country. The doctors appointments, scans, blood draws, phone calls, and the waiting, and waiting, and waiting for the whole ordeal to just be over with. All in all, it was 8 days of pure torture that peaked with me being alone in a white sterile procedure room while my husband and children waited in our car outside. This was then followed by a pretty traumatic experience in a Mexican restaurant and then back at said guesthouse, during which my husband removed the stitches of one of the tenants on the opposite side of the duplex while I tried to manage kids and complete a miscarriage. Oh, how those walls saw so many tears during that time. Even now, they hold my loneliness and brokenness of that season and bring back our vivid feelings of defeat after a long hard year of struggle. 

As we returned through that guesthouse that used to be a frequent stop-off for our weary selves in those days, I noticed that this time was different. The heaviness wasn't there. We were different people...or, maybe we were the same people in a different season. There was a new song being sung in that place. It was a song of Redemption. It was a song that Jesus was and is singing over us, saying, “See… I make all things new.” Yes, we were different people when we passed through this time. He has made us into new creations.We are now in a season of Joy, one in which our Father has turned our mourning into dancing (not in the way we expected, but somehow in a much better way that I could never have chosen at the time). The paradox of this joyful redemption is that we would not be the new creatures we are today without the trials and tribulations we faced within those walls during previous seasons. 

And that’s why I’m grateful for Ebenezer stones such as a random guesthouse in Kampala, Uganda. They get woven into the beautiful tapestry that God is writing with our stories, and they remind us that He uses all things- the mundane, the tragic, the joys, the sorrows, and the things long-forgotten by our finite minds- into His message of Hope for a helpless world. They are a part of our stories, and therefore a part of who we are and whom God is shaping us into. I’m not sure when the next time will be that we will stop off at the BMU Guesthouse in Kampala, but I look forward to the flood of memories that will welcome me there again, and remind me once more of the God who sees, who knows, and who pens every chapter of our stories. Those stories point to the Greater Story that we all are a part of, the one in which He is turning all of our Songs of Lament into Songs of Praise. And that is one that I can’t wait to read in its fullness one day when all things will be made new.

Sweet Baby Jack (2016)

Sweet Olive Mae (2013)

This is Life.
...remembering His goodness throughout our journey...