Category: Alicia Writes

A New Year’s Benediction

On By Alicia McCauleyIn The Junk Drawer12 Comments

Um, is this thing on?  I forgot how to use it.

It’s lovely to be with you again.  I feel like I should explain why I haven’t been here in quite some time, but the truth is I don’t have a reason.  I just didn’t have anything worth saying.

Two things have compelled me to write today.  First of all, tomorrow I get to speak at a Rotary meeting about my loved ones in Uganda, my Vigilantes of Kindness here at home, and the beautiful stories we wove together last summer.  I’m thrilled to share and horrified, absolutely horrified, at the thought of speaking to a largish group of adults.

Just thinking about it makes my armpits drip sweat.  Hang on a sec while I go administer copious amounts of deodorant.  Talk amongst yourselves.

Alrighty, now that I’ve got that under control, the second thing that made me pound away at the keys today is Neil Gaiman.  You know him, right?  Amazing author, incredible speaker.  He probably doesn’t sweat a drop when he speaks.

Anyway, Neil Gaiman has written several brilliant New Year’s benedictions for the world.  You should read them.  You’ll be better for it.  Promise.

For the conclusion of my Rotary talk, I reflected on my trip to Uganda and the year as a whole and then I wrote my own New Year’s benediction.  It’s as much for me as it is for you, but most especially it’s for my Vigilantes of Kindness from last year and the Vigilantes who are already on board with me as my return trip begins to take shape.  I’m grateful for each and every one of you.  You inspire me.  You move me.  You make me absolutely giddy to see what’s in store for us this year.

A New Year’s Benediction

love ringsIn this new year, I hope you love deeply and are loved in return.

I hope you find family in the most surprising times and places.

I hope you make beautiful plans, but more importantly I hope that when your plans fall broken at your feet, because they sometimes will, that in quiet solitude you’ll want nothing more and nothing less than to hear God.

And then I hope you’ll listen for His voice, listen so hard that the pounding of your heart overwhelms your eardrums and your very spirit.

I hope you’re tickled and delighted when He answers you in the most unexpected of ways and suddenly you find yourself living a dream greater than you ever fathomed.

I hope you discover depths of humility that compel you to lay aside your own ideas and speak the soothing words, “What do you need and how can I help?”

I hope that when you encounter inequality that you will resist the urge to run and instead stand with feet firmly planted in justice.  I hope that your voice, quiver as it may, rises from your throat in defense of those who have not been allowed to speak for themselves.

I hope that both in the warmth of joy and in the cold face of contempt, you’ll know beyond a shadow of a doubt that beauty rises from our tender, broken places.

Most of all I hope that in this new year you’ll be passionately, unswervingly, desperately vigilant in lavishing kindness on one another.

Thankful Thursday #97

On By Alicia McCauleyIn Thankful ThursdaysLeave a comment
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the road to Yosemite by Alicia McCauley

I’ve been traveling a lot recently and have fallen out of the habit of writing down all that I’m thankful for each week.  I’ve missed it and am glad to have a moment to catch my breath this week and give thanks.

This week I’m thankful for…

  • date night with my hubby
  • laughing so hard with the hubby that I was crying and gasping for air.  My stomach muscles hurt the next morning from laughing so hard.
  • riding my bike to school
  • good books
  • my friend who fell so hard in love with a book that she teared up telling me about it
  • Yosemite in all its fall splendor
  • the pomegranate scented candle on my nightstand
  • my VP who has my back on big things and also does little things like offer to give me bathroom breaks
  • riding my bike to school
  • listening to audio books on road trips

The Littlest Bird

On By Alicia McCauleyIn Other Stories from UgandaLeave a comment

This year I was present for Election Day at school. There was a page worth of candidates on the ballot running for different student offices. Each candidate had a couple of minutes to deliver their campaign speech to the 300 members of the student body. Before the speeches began, one of the English teachers stood and spoke about the procedures. He encouraged the students to listen carefully and then to vote with their hearts.

The speeches began and during the speeches the students were asked to submit their questions to the student Parliament running the proceedings. There were many coveted offices like Head Boy and Head Girl, each in charge of overseeing their assigned gender and assisting with any problems they’re having which they may not feel comfortable immediately bringing to the adults. One of the most coveted offices is that of Time Keeper. Time Keeper rings the bell to indicate that class sessions are over, that lunch is over, that the school day is concluding, that church is beginning. It is a big responsibility and not one to be taken lightly.

There were several candidates for Time Keeper and each gave an excellent speech, but there was one who stood out to me above the rest. Crispus is an S1 (8th grade), student. He’s a tiny kid, about as big as an American third or fourth grader. What he lacks in stature, he makes up for in personality.

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When Crispus began his speech, I actually jumped at the sound of his voice, so loud and full of enthusiasm. He proclaimed that he is responsible and owns a good watch which would allow him to ensure that classes ended and lunch began on time. The crowd, which had been boisterous throughout the whole assembly now became more vocal than ever.

“He’s too young!”
“This is too much responsibility.”
“He’s only an S1.”

Tiny Crispus stood, shoulders back, taking it all and never responding in turn, waiting for the student Parliament to gather questions from the audience and read them to him to answer.

The heckling continued until suddenly the audience began to turn in his favor. Those who had opposed Crispus could be heard no longer over the din that arose. First there was clapping, followed by stomping of feet and then a roar erupted from the crowd. They shouted his name and cheered for him.

So loud was their cheering that the student Parliament couldn’t contain them and Crispus couldn’t contain his grin, which had spread from one side of his face to the other. After returning to his seat, Crispus continued to smile for the rest of the proceedings. I imagine he went to bed smiling.

Molly’s Forgiveness

On By Alicia McCauleyIn Other Stories from UgandaLeave a comment

“I can’t make you any promises except one-I promise to do my level best.” This speech during student government elections was a refreshing change of pace from most of the other speeches, litanies of promises the students couldn’t possibly fulfill.

I didn’t know her well, but I loved Molly from that very moment, this small girl with a perpetual smile, this girl who has learned early in life to only makes promises she can keep.

It’s no secret that many of the students at the school have difficult lives, but the joy that pushes through heartache and even terror never ceases to amaze me.

On Sunday morning my son, Martin, was preaching at the school church service. His message was on forgiveness, even forgiveness for your worst enemies. It was here that both of those words ‘enemy’ and ‘forgiveness’ took on a whole new shape for me. Martin asked those in attendance who were harboring unforgiveness to publicly stand up and say who they were forgiving.

The principal of the school stood. “I’d like to go first. I’ve been struggling to forgive the men who murdered my brother a few months ago.”

Whoa, talk about leading by example.

The students came in droves and started to talk about who they were forgiving. Molly walked to the front of the classroom that was functioning as a makeshift church. She stood in the back of the group, the top of her head barely gracing the shoulders of her peers.

One by one the students came forward, but Molly waited. She waited with a smile on her face for over an hour until finally she was the last one standing. She took a deep breath.

“Today I forgive my uncle for what he’s doing to me. He doesn’t want me to go to school, doesn’t think girls should go to school,” she paused here and tears streamed down her cheeks. She took a deep breath and continued. “He doesn’t want me to go to school and every time I go home he tries to kill me, or sends other men to kill me. Today I forgive him.”

I was frozen with horror, the lump in my throat blocking the hot anger rising in my stomach.

My son, Martin, enveloped her in a hug and as a congregation we prayed for Molly’s safety. As the students reached out their hands and prayed loudly, I prayed silently, a prayer of thanks for this school that keeps Molly safe and for the principal who actively seeks protection and justice on her behalf.

At the conclusion of the service many of my kids, both big and little, came to hug me. In the crowd, I didn’t see Molly until she slipped under my arm. I hugged her tight, holding her at what the kids call “zero distance”. Zero distance hugs are forbidden between students of the opposite gender. They’re reserved for close friends of the same gender and for family. I was neither to Molly, but as I felt her tears wet my shirt, I kept holding her tight. Even though I wasn’t her mama, in that moment I was a mama and I held this little shaking girl and kissed the top of her head while she cried. I felt my own tears fall and neither of us said a word. We didn’t need to.

I don’t know how long we stood like that. It was long enough for her tears on my shirt to spread in a ring the size of a large platter and long enough for most of the other students to leave the building. When we separated, she looked up at me and smiled and we both wiped tears from our eyes. I squeezed her one last time before she left.

Molly often comes to me in my dreams and I wake up marveling at the depth of forgiveness this tiny girl possesses. I think of her campaign promise to her fellow students to “do her level best” and as I untuck myself from the canopy of my mosquito net, I pray that I’ll be able to do the same, specifically when my level best means forgiving my worst enemies.

Love Has Come

On By Alicia McCauleyIn Unconventional Motherhood4 Comments

I ugly cried in church last Sunday.

I’m not a big crier.  Crying in front of someone or worse yet, lots of someones, is my #1 Top Most Embarrassing Thing Ever.

And yet there I was absolutely weeping.  Mascara dripping, nose running, shoulder shaking, flat-out sobbing.  I blame Jeremy Riddle and his song God of the Redeemed.  Go ahead, take a listen.

I didn’t even make it through the first verse.  “Love has come.  We’re orphans no longer.”  At that point it was all over.  I didn’t have time to swallow the lump rising in my throat before the tears started streaming.

By the time it got to, “Hallelujah, to You, the God of the redeemed,” I was a complete wreck.  All I could do was stand there, lift my face and cry.  The tears dripped down my cheeks and into my ears, so many tears that my ears filled up and overflowed down my neck.

I cried in joy because I’ll see my boys and all my other Ugandan kids in a few short days.

I cried for my boys who were orphans.

I cried because I’m overcome that they’ve chosen me as their mother.

I cried for my son who used to think he was nothing.

I cried out of gratitude for a school that in tangible ways shows my boys they’re worthy of redemption.

I cried the tears of a thousand hallelujahs.

And when I ran out of tears, I stood in silence doing nothing, not singing a word, barely uttering even a breath.  And in my quiet, in my stark nothingness, I stood and didn’t care how many people saw me cry.  In that moment everything else ceased to matter.

I’d been looking for a gift to give my boys, something to remind them that they’re not orphans anymore, that we have claimed each other as mother and sons.  I looked and looked, but nothing was right.  And then I saw them.

love rings

Simple rings, one for me and three for them, reminders that love has come and that the best love often comes in unexpected ways.  Meeting the love of my life when I was fifteen and filthy dirty from helping build a church in Mexico.  Finding my sons 9,049 miles away.  The baby in a manger who redeemed us all.

Love has come and it leaves me in such awe that it’s all I can do to whisper hallelujah.