Auntie 

I walk through the gate, and instantly I am introduced as "Auntie Christine".It took me back for a second. Auntie? Immediately I was then overwhelmed with the hugs and introductions.

This was June 15th, the day I landed in Uganda. 

After 2 days of flying and one full day of driving I had finally arrived in Gulu.  Home for the next 9 weeks.  Sarah, my roommate, and I drove directly to the children's home.  After exchanging introductions I was immediately immersed into the lively culture of the children's home. The girls were moving the following day, so packing needed to be done, children needed to be bathed, and supper was being prepared.  Supper on this particular night just happened to be chicken and lets just say, chicken here is most certainly both 'free range' and 'organic'.  Lucy, one of our girls, had come home from visiting her village with a live chicken. Now this is a real treat.  She slaughtered it herself, boiled it, and was plucking out the final feathers by the time I arrived. 

Lucy is 13. 

As I was standing there watching in amazement, the girls asked several times if I would like  help. My response: "no, no thank you".  I watch them cut it open and courageously pull out all of the organs.  Next they hack off the feet.  "Auntie, you want?", Offering me the feet.  

I smile because I love all of this.  This is their life.

As I help the girls with their other evening chores and and run around the yard with some of the children, repeatedly I am requested. "Auntie, Auntie run lets run again", "Auntieeee I don't want to bathe", "Auntie Christine, stay the night, don't go". Each time I heard my new name, it continued to melt my heart.

Now I was not specially selected to bear this title, each of their caregivers, are called "Auntie".  But, none the less, there is something particularly endearing about being called "Auntie". It immediately formed a bond that went deeper, and magnified the importance of this new role. In my life, those who have been given the name "Aunt" are in a special place of deep connection. It is reserved for the role of family members and few very close family friends. So already my love and sweet bond to these girls has grown. It has been a true privledge to be invited in so rapidly. I feel invested and connected to them in a way that cares deeply for their well being, their choices, their spirituality, and even the most mundane details of their lives.

Well let me tell you about these beautiful girls. There are 17 of them. The youngest is age 6 and the oldest is age 15. They are full of hugs. They are full of feistiness. They love school and they love tutoring. (Literally, tutoring is the incentive to finishing your chores early.) 

 This week i was handed a yellow folder holding the short stories of their lives previous to Zion Project. I could only get through 2 without breaking down. These are no longer stories without a name.  The name and the story now has an attachment that goes far beyond.  This is Gloria, who I read to yesterday, who I held in my arms and sang to as I dried her off from her cold bath. No, these stories are now very personal. I am their Auntie. These are my girls.

Eventually, I sat down and read story after story: "Doreen was brought to Uganda from Congo as a baby by a soldier who used her as protection from enemy fire", "Alloyo's step father used to call men over to rape her. Used to pimp her and laugh as she cried behind the curtain", "Mercy's mother used to bring men home with her, so she learned how to have sex early. She says boys used to threaten to rape her all the time because she was Congolese and that was 'what she was for' ", "Espy says, 'some boys would come in groups at night and would sleep with me and it would hurt so I would cry and would tell my Mom but she would only beat me' ". These are just a few.

I breathe deeply after reading each. It still doesn't seem real.

As my heart rattles, not sure which emotion to fall on, I come to my knees and pray. 'God what do I make of this?' Exhausted, I then fall asleep for several hours, go for a walk. Then I am reminded of a talk from the Passion conference, the very place I learned of human trafficking. Beth Moore, one of the event's speakers, spoke to us on Luke 8: 40-56. As Jesus is walking through a crowded city, a woman who has been defiled by her discharge of blood for 12 years reaches out and touches the fringe of Jesus' garment.  Immediately the blood stops. Jesus asks who it was that touched him, for he perceived that power went out from his body. The text then reads "And when the woman saw that she was not hidden, she came trembling, and falling down before him declared in the presence of all the people why she touched him, and how she had been immediately healed. And he said to her, "Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace.""

This woman was considered 'defiled'. She was not to touch anyone, yet she reaches out and touches Jesus. And Jesus takes notice. Why? Because this was not an accident. He is an all-knowing God who purposely planned this 'holy interruption'. It was not coincidence  that he happened to walked through the city this way, or that he put himself within reach of this woman. He made himself accessible to her. She could not be hidden; and despite her infirmities Jesus heals her immediately.

 In the same way, these girls have a background of physical, spiritual, emotional and relational trauma. It is terrible what tremendous acts have been used to 'defile' them. But they are not hidden. God has purposely made their stories known to Zion Project. He has rescued their bodies, their souls and their hearts.  The same path of shame and darkness has brought them to salvation and worthiness. I believe that when God places His hand on the terrors of their past it will lead to their good and His glory.  For my girls are not hidden, and their faith has made them well.