When the pain is too much, make pizza

What do I say? Today I heard stories of hungry widows, forgotten orphans and a family who ran 72 km with nine kids to escape the rebels. We were in the IDP camp again today listening to stories and loving on people and now I’m drained. By the time you read this I’ll probably have processed and found the “happy place” in Jesus but right now I’m still trying to even get the point of dealing with it. I’m still in the phase where your emotions can’t take it and fight to shut down. Your brain SCREAMS “Hey, this hurts WAY to bad, investing would cost WAY to much. STOP”
This is when truth over rides reason though and my will has to rise up and give in to Jesus. He’s enough. He is. End of story. The most common thing we hear among the 20 thousand people in Mugunga Refugee Camp is “We’re starving. There’s no work and no food. What do we do?” Talking with a woman in her shanty little tarp and banana leaf home we sat together on her bed. It was painful. Literally. Spiky volcanic rock with a UNHCR tarp on top I could feel the edges jabbing into my butt. Ok Jesus. You’re still good. You’re still enough. As I chat with a family a little girl in my arms dozens of kids surrounding us we could hardly hear the people talking over the coughing and hacking of the little ones around us. OK JESUS! I KNOW YOU’RE STILL GOOD. I Know you’re MORE than enough for Mugunga. And in that, his amazingness, we get to see him show up. We get to see him as the answer for the sick, the answer for the depressed. I love that place. I really do. As we walk between the rows and rows of white tarped “closets” I feel at home. Living from Heaven to earth in the midst of hell. Sometimes I have to fight the natural survival mechanism of shutting my heart down but when I chose to trust in his love even after the stories, I know life is still amazing.
Their eyes are hard, empty and hollow. But it doesn’t take much. When we sit with them and cry out for Jesus to come and sit with us suddenly a life in them that I never knew existed emerges from nowhere. But yet I wrestle. Mercy would be filling their stomachs today, justice would be empowering them to feed their stomachs tomorrow and the next day, and the next day. Right? What’s the strategy for 20 thousand hungry refugees whose homes are invaded with rebels? Jesus. Love. What does action look like? (And this is only one of 6 camps)

As my itunes scrolls through “random” and I listen and type and process and type, and Jesus and type I’ve found my hope again. It doesn’t take long usually, He’s just to good. To funny. I love that even after the hardest days he brings joy.
Today we had a party. Barely freshly showered from the layers of IDP camp guck and we decided to host a bunch of people for a birthday party. It was fabulous. Pulling out my domestic diva skills we through together pizza! (without an oven or dough!) It was actually REALLY good though!!!! I’m still in shock how we did it. (we’re that incredible) Oh the bliss. Oh the contrast. But still how much I delight in his joy.