Being Wrecked

Remember when I talked about the sheer weight of this week? It turns out I hadn't even felt the half of it.

I am finally letting myself read Kisses from Katie, by Katie Davis. During her senior year of high school, this privileged teen took a trip to Uganda that absolutely wrecked her. She longed to go back and knew God was calling her to do so. She made a deal with her parents: one year in Uganda, and then she would enroll in and graduate from college.

Katie loved Jesus and was willing to follow Him anywhere.

Which is good, because she would never go back to the life she knew. She started out teaching kindergarten, and was crushed with the desperation she saw. She began loving children, one at a time. She founded a non-profit. And, eight months in to her "one-year" stay, she adopted three girls who called her Mommy. Her next two daughters came quickly into her family. She realized that she was never returning to her old life. She came back to the US to fundraise, and she felt uncomfortable, as though she was just a visitor. She is now a mother to fourteen children. They don't have a lot - they often don't even have electricity - but they have Jesus and He is enough.

Now I knew this whole story a long time ago. The book came out three years ago.

I, however, was terrified to read it.

Because, you see, I knew it would wreck me, too. I remember being devastated by Amma, Amy Carmichael, and how she became a mother to over thirty children in India, whom she rescued out of poverty. And Amy wasn't even my age.

But to think of Katie, who at 22 - my age - has fourteen children whom she cares for, provides for, teaches (11 are homeschooled) and loves is just unfathomable. The joy she has in pouring out Christ like love and compassion are unmatched. It shows me how selfish and hard my heart is, because I don't even understand that kind of love. It sounds impossible.

And yet, in smaller ways, God shows me that I am wrecked by my Savior, just like Katie. Because today, as I prayed for my dear friend, I cried quiet tears in a coffee shop and starting humming and people looked at me like I was insane. Carrying someone else's burdens, carrying someone to the cross of Christ, and showing them the empty tomb, it's one small act of great love.

I feel that weight, but it's not a crushing weight; on the contrary, I feel full, and the praise is just pouring out.

I literally can't stop singing Beautiful Scandalous Night, Tis So Sweet to Trust in Jesus and By the Mark this week (I wish I had recordings of how much church/I do(es) these songs. Nothing compares). It's getting embarrassing to go in public, and I don't really care. I don't know if you've ever sang the same three songs for an hour, but it's simple and beautiful and amazing.

Anyway, happy Maundy Thursday.