The Gate

Eight-year-old Isaac was in front of me
leaping over deep ruts in the red dirt road,
his skinny legs ending in an oversized pair of crocs.

We were running on a road from the compound into Mukono,
a half-mile at most, but also a world apart.
For Isaac, a trip past the compound gate was a rare thing.

As we ran down narrow roads
past houses built from clay bricks dug from yards
(most without running water or electricity)
I watched him take in all the sights and sounds.

The orphanage where he lives
provides him with so much -
a safe place to sleep, food, clothes, an education,
medical services, church, 170 brothers and sisters
watched over by dozens of aunties and uncles.

It also made me think,
did living inside the gate make him a bit of an outsider?

We sat along the busy road through Mukono -
me, Isaac, Katie, Christian, and Jared -
counting the taxis packed with people as they
passed by at alarming speeds.
Watching people trying to get from one side
of the busy road to the other.

The language spoken around us was Luganda
and I wondered how much, if anything,
the boys understood.

We finished our meal, an egg and vegetable wrap
called a rolex, cooked in a tiny wooden booth,
odd-sized boards and sticks giving definition to a livelihood,
and started walking home.

Eventually we passed back through the metal gate that separates
these children from the surrounding landscape.

Watching my daughter and her husband,
walking hand in hand with these boys, I am humbled
by the many small things they do daily for the children
they are called to serve.

A quick hug ends the evening as the boys run to
the Children's Home to get ready for bed.

Tonight their dreams might be bigger than last night's,
which is perhaps a small gift that God can use in big ways.

Enough

Tell me, what is your greatest fear?
My greatest fear is that I am not enough.

Enough love, enough encouragement,
giving enough, doing enough...
all of these things.

You don't have to be enough.
(The silence that follows holds a space.
It gives me time. And courage. To hope.)

You don't have to be enough 
because I am enough.

(I swing my feet, and my toes touch the water,
bringing back memories of sitting on the end of the dock as a child.
I feel the sun on my face.
But even more, I feel a presence beside me.
An arm around my shoulder.
A sideways hug.)

You don't have to be enough, because I am enough.
Letting the air out, I realize I was holding my breath.

But who will--
You don't have to be enough because I am enough.

But what if-
You don't have to be enough because I am enough.

But how can you possibly do it all without me?
(A smile and a shake of the head, making me smile too.)

You don't have to be enough because I am enough.
Trusting. That enough really is.