True Giving

“Truly, I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury.  For all of them have contributed out of their abundance; but she, out of her poverty has put in everything she had."  -Mark 12:43-45 RSV

“I don’t like people to send me something because they want to get rid of it.  Giving is something different.  It is sharing.  I also don’t want you to give me what you have left over.  I want you to give from your want until you really feel it!” – Mother Teresa

On a hot, lush hillside in the back country of Uganda, God gave me a unique prayer partner.  When I set up a little camping stool next to the white tarp-framed church structure in Kyakitanga, and began to journal, I heard her voice praying inside, behind me.  I fake coughed a few times so my presence wouldn’t startle her.  I continued my Bible study, she continued praying loudly and fervently.  Finally, she came out through the gap in the tarps and embraced me in her long, bony arms, squeezing me firmly, holding her cheek next to mine for a long time.

We studied each other’s faces quietly for a few moments.  Her bright blue, patterned head wrap mirrored the fabric of her dress, too much cloth for her sparse frame.  Round, full cheeks atop beautiful, deep cheekbones displayed her joy.  Her eyes were full of life, but glossed over with fluid that made it hard for her to read her Bible.

She disappeared back through the tarp opening and reemerged with a bench.  I left my stool and sat close to her on the bench.  I called her Jja Jja, which means grandma in Luganda.  Jja Jja and I spent time praying together, simultaneously in English and Luganda.  

I think heaven must be something like that.

When it was time for me to go, Jja Jja pointed to my shoes.  She showed how my shoes had closed toes; her flip flops left her gnarled feet exposed.  Not wanting to walk back to the school barefoot, I tried to negotiate a trade – I’d wear her flip flops and she could take my shoes.  Jja Jja shook her head no and waved me off. 

Back at the school, I decided to put my flip flops on and take my close-toed shoes back to the church, back to Jja Jja.  Throughout the trip, I’d been reading No Greater Love by Mother Teresa and had been thinking about what it means to give.  My shoes were beat up.  I’d bought them new for this Uganda trip, but they had quickly become filthy dirty and distressed-looking.  It was no sacrifice to give her my shoes.  I still had flip flops and a pair of high heels for teaching.  

I had the shoes in hand, ready to walk back up the hill, and I saw my Mom’s note on my bed.  My Mom always gives me a card when I travel and I cherish them.  I usually tape the card somewhere I can see it and feel loved and encouraged when I’m so far away from anything familiar.  This one was really pretty.  My Mom had cut out a picture of a sheep with “The Lord is my Shepherd” written across it.  She’d even used fancy scissors so the edges were scooped and scrolled.  This was worth more to my homebody heart than a pair of shoes would ever be.  I knew it had to come with me.

When I arrived at the church again, Jja Jja was praying inside, sitting on a banana leaf mat on the deep brown dirt floor.  She lit up, but remained seated when I came in.  I squatted down next to her and pulled off her flip flops.  I paused and held each foot in my hand before gently replacing the flip flops with my dusty blue shoes. 

There is something powerful about holding another human being’s foot.  My Mom has always been grossed out by feet.  I’m not even sure she likes her own feet.  Yet when my grandpa was alive, I watched my Mom lovingly trim his toenails and care for his knotted toes.  I was a bored teenager then, but I was paying attention.  The image of my Mom giving what was hardest for her to give – touching feet with a smile – traveled with me all the way to Africa. 

Then I gave what was hard for me to give – my piece of home.  As Jja Jja happily bumped her feet together like Dorothy clicking her heels back to Kansas, I held out the card.  We opened Jja Jja’s Bible and I showed her where the card’s words came from in Psalm 23.  She flipped to the back where my parents had typed a message and signed their names, and I said, “My Mama and Papa.”  Jja Jja began to cry.  She stood up and held me in another iron-clad hug. 

I walked back to school knowing that I had indeed experienced heaven.