definition time.
high = thinking about Uganda every day, but not obsessively
low = thinking about Uganda every day, obsessively
now that we've got that out of the way, I can speak more clearly.
I've been having a lot of lows recently. And lows are good, really. But at other times, they're just downright NOT good because it's hard to be productive when you're not focused.
Part of what contributed to a recent low was that I found out I MAY have the POSSIBILITY of going back next year. So really, it's not likely. But wanting to be optomistic, I'll give myself a 25% chance of it happening.
And last time I checked, 25% was a lot higher than 0%, which is what I was at a month ago. So I have a smidge of hope. And even if it doesn't work out, it's reminded me that I don't have to be in control for God to be working. There could be lots going on behind the scenes that I have NO idea about. And that's basically how God's been operating in my life the past couple of years - dropping things in my lap that had been a long time in the making but I had no idea about.
Oh my word. I miss Uganda. It's ridiculous how much I can miss a place that I was only at for 10 nights. I've been in the US of A for WELL OVER 5000 nights, and didn't miss it nearly as much as I am missing Uganda. Reason why = no clue. It's probs just a God-thing.
And how is it possible to think of Uganda every stinking day? I have been home for 123 days. That is a lot of thinking. I'm wondering if there's any way to get a credit on Uganda or something. Seriously.
Whoa! I've been home EXACTLY four months. Exactly four months ago I was "enjoying" the last 1.5 hours of the plane ride. Holy. Stankin'. Catfish.
Monday, November 14, 2011
Monday, September 26, 2011
bullet-pointing my thoughts
- Still haven't changed my watch yet. Nope, not gonna do it.
- If there's one kid that melts my heart when I think about him, it's definitely Trevor. Even typing his name gets to me. He is such a sweet kid, oh my word. Head over heels.
- The fact that there were 474 pictures taken on the first day at the Redeemer House. What in the world? How did my battery last and my card not fill up? It's just wonderful.
- So excited about all the kids getting adopted!
- Honestly, Ugandans have such perfect eyes. How is that even possible?
Saturday, August 20, 2011
More thoughts.
I thought I was over the rough part of returning home – you know, the part where all you think about is the kids that you met, the poverty you saw, the overall work of God there, and you just want to go back ASAP before you get too used to living in the “same old” America. And I thought that was gone, for the most part. I of course want to go back – no question there, but I had stopped obsessing over the kids in my mind all the time (and things like that).
Whelp. It didn’t last long. I became facebook friends with some of the A Perfect Injustice aunties and it all came back. =) I looked through their pictures and the stories and faces that went along with it, and it was just BAD in a good way. Facebook is already addicting, it’s even worse when you get caught looking at pictures of kids you are in love with and miss so much – and you see pictures of them doing drugs.
It’s not pleasant, my friend.
Something I keep thinking about, is that it makes absolutely no sense for me to love Uganda. Honestly.
I love cold weather and summer is my least favorite season. Uganda is like a summer-wonderland. I used to think missionaries were kind of old-fashioned (no offense). I can’t stop thinking about missions/ministry. There was a time when I did not like idea of flying internationally and was more than content to stay in the good old USofA. I love flying, and now miss the excitement of international travel. And no fear of flying is going to keep me from going to Uganda. I don’t like trying new foods, AT ALL. Uganda … has new foods. And though I basically stuck with the basics and what I knew, I DID try some goat (!) and if/when I go back I will expand my variety. I like being clean. I really miss the dirty feet thing I had going over there. And laughing at how much dirt would still be on my feet and legs even after a shower. Comfort zone: I like to stay in it. Uganda: not in my comfort zone.
There’s more, I’m sure. Uganda = not really my style. But when God has you fall in love with something, you can’t help but not care about the non-important stuff because caring about that isn’t really worth it in the end. But being in Uganda was worth it, and I didn’t even THINK about most of that stuff because, disconcerting as it may be in the States, it’s just not a big deal when you’re over there. There’s more important stuff to think about.
Anyway, just some thoughts.
Whelp. It didn’t last long. I became facebook friends with some of the A Perfect Injustice aunties and it all came back. =) I looked through their pictures and the stories and faces that went along with it, and it was just BAD in a good way. Facebook is already addicting, it’s even worse when you get caught looking at pictures of kids you are in love with and miss so much – and you see pictures of them doing drugs.
It’s not pleasant, my friend.
Something I keep thinking about, is that it makes absolutely no sense for me to love Uganda. Honestly.
I love cold weather and summer is my least favorite season. Uganda is like a summer-wonderland. I used to think missionaries were kind of old-fashioned (no offense). I can’t stop thinking about missions/ministry. There was a time when I did not like idea of flying internationally and was more than content to stay in the good old USofA. I love flying, and now miss the excitement of international travel. And no fear of flying is going to keep me from going to Uganda. I don’t like trying new foods, AT ALL. Uganda … has new foods. And though I basically stuck with the basics and what I knew, I DID try some goat (!) and if/when I go back I will expand my variety. I like being clean. I really miss the dirty feet thing I had going over there. And laughing at how much dirt would still be on my feet and legs even after a shower. Comfort zone: I like to stay in it. Uganda: not in my comfort zone.
There’s more, I’m sure. Uganda = not really my style. But when God has you fall in love with something, you can’t help but not care about the non-important stuff because caring about that isn’t really worth it in the end. But being in Uganda was worth it, and I didn’t even THINK about most of that stuff because, disconcerting as it may be in the States, it’s just not a big deal when you’re over there. There’s more important stuff to think about.
Anyway, just some thoughts.
 |
| i throw my hands up in the air sometimes, saying eh-oh, gotta let go |
Memories
-After Jeb gave Akyram and Nicolaus their books, one boy came up to me and said, "Praise God!" Praise God, indeed.
-How welcoming the boys in the slum were. It wasn't awkward, strange or anything. They welcomed us and I felt like an old friend coming back. Those kids are amazing.
-How I had to remind myself, and still remind myself that those kids, in the orphanage and on the streets, HAD BAD PASTS. They seem so normal. The kids in the orphanage didn't act like they had been abandoned, starved, had parents killed by the Lord's Resistance Army, had HIV/AIDS, been abused or mistreated. It's only God that can cause a child with such a horrible background to be so loving and "normal".
-The boys on the streets were definitely a LOT rougher. I mean, yeah, they live on the streets and in pretty bad conditions. They huff jet fuel to get high and to help block out the hunger and cold at night so they can sleep. Lots of other stuff going on that I'm sure I don't know about. It's just a bad scenario. But even with the rough edges, it was so easy to be with them. To play games and learn from them. I forgot that they were street kids.
-Singing the Doxology in the middle of a Ugandan restaurant the day we were in the slums. I mean, a group of muzungus singing in a restaurant. Picture it. It's awesome.
-Driving down the streets outside of Jinja and hearing people yell "muzungus, money!" I wish we didn't stand out. I would have loved seeing everyone in their normal state, not gaping and yelling at us. Not everyone did, but a good number.
-learning the word "sugarcane", which is "ekikajjo". When you pronounce it correctly it sounds something like "Chicago". =)
-How welcoming the boys in the slum were. It wasn't awkward, strange or anything. They welcomed us and I felt like an old friend coming back. Those kids are amazing.
-How I had to remind myself, and still remind myself that those kids, in the orphanage and on the streets, HAD BAD PASTS. They seem so normal. The kids in the orphanage didn't act like they had been abandoned, starved, had parents killed by the Lord's Resistance Army, had HIV/AIDS, been abused or mistreated. It's only God that can cause a child with such a horrible background to be so loving and "normal".-The boys on the streets were definitely a LOT rougher. I mean, yeah, they live on the streets and in pretty bad conditions. They huff jet fuel to get high and to help block out the hunger and cold at night so they can sleep. Lots of other stuff going on that I'm sure I don't know about. It's just a bad scenario. But even with the rough edges, it was so easy to be with them. To play games and learn from them. I forgot that they were street kids.
-Singing the Doxology in the middle of a Ugandan restaurant the day we were in the slums. I mean, a group of muzungus singing in a restaurant. Picture it. It's awesome.
-Driving down the streets outside of Jinja and hearing people yell "muzungus, money!" I wish we didn't stand out. I would have loved seeing everyone in their normal state, not gaping and yelling at us. Not everyone did, but a good number.
-learning the word "sugarcane", which is "ekikajjo". When you pronounce it correctly it sounds something like "Chicago". =)
Monday, August 8, 2011
{by Richard Stearns}
"For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink ..." --Matthew 25:35-36
Jesus' words are a powerful and inspiring reminder as I sit in my office browsing on news websites the stories and images of the staggering tragedy unfolding in the Horn of Africa.
Nearly 10 million people are "critically short of food," according to the United Nations, due to what UN officials say is the region's worst drought since I was born 60 years ago. Those 10 million people live in Kenya, Ethiopia, Uganda, Djibouti and war-ravaged Somalia.
For some, the stories and images will be reminders of the Ethiopian famine. Twenty-five years ago, the images of bloated, dying children, images unlike any others seen before by millions of Americans, prompted a massive outpouring of donations and offers to help. That outpouring culminated in the "Live Aid," concerts in Philadelphia and London, the latter of which brought a group I had never heard of before to the world's attention -- U2.
For others, the name "Somalia" brings back the events of 1991-1994 when hundreds of thousands of Somalis were starving, prompting a U.S.-led peacekeeping force to intervene. That effort led to a military operation against Somali warlords and, regrettably, the deaths of 42 American soldiers.
I am reminded of two things.
First, the faces, the voices and the stories of people I've met in Kenya, Ethiopia and Uganda. Kenya was the first nation I visited after joining World Vision in 1998, and where I learned one of the most important lessons of my life: Poverty is not an image, or a statistic; poverty has a face, a name and a story.
Second, I am reminded of the powerful and provocative quote from Josef Stalin: "A single death is a tragedy; a million deaths is a statistic."
I fear that for many Americans -- Christians and people of other faiths or no faith -- will devote little time or attention, let alone resources, to the people suffering in the Horn of Africa. Rather they are preoccupied with "First World problems":
~~ How fluctuations in the stock market are affecting my 401(k) investments;
~~ Where to go on my next vacation;
~~ Whether to buy "name brand" or "store brand" items in the supermarket;
~~ Which diet and workout regimen will enable me to lose 10 pounds in a month; or
~~ The struggle over my next computer -- a notebook, a laptop, or the new iPad2?
Or worse, they are obsessed with finding out where Casey Anthony might be living, now that she's been released from jail after being acquitted of charges that she murdered her daughter, Caylee. Thousands of Americans followed Ms. Anthony's trial closely, and expressed outrage when she was found not guilty. They wanted justice for Caylee's death. Where's their outrage or sense of justice for the millions of children at-risk of dying in the Horn of Africa? Their lack of attention proves the late Soviet premier's admonition.
Many "First World" Americans have never met a person with "Third World problems":
~~ Whose income is $2 a day and who has never heard of a 401 (K);
~~ Whose only travel plans are traipsing by foot from Somalia into Kenya to a refugee camp;
~~ Whose primary source of drinking water is infested with animal feces, and has never been inside a supermarket;
~~ Who lost 10 pounds in the last week because of too little or even no food, and who has no use for a health club membership; or
~~ Who has no access to electricity, and does not need -- and maybe has not ever seen -- a computer.
I have the privilege of knowing people facing both First World and Third World problems. It is a privilege because, I believe, Jesus would consider it a privilege. He met with, ate meals alongside and learned from those His society considered its lowest and its outcasts -- prostitutes, tax-collectors, the poor and victims of injustice.
He would have been honored to meet and serve people like Hawo, a woman believed to be about 75-years-old who lives in Kalabeyr, a remote town in northern Somalia. Thanks to my World Vision colleagues working in the region, I know more about Hawo, than I ever will know -- or even want to know -- about Casey Anthony.
After the drought killed the more than 500 goats and sheep Hawo and her eight children lived on, they were forced to abandon their pastoral way of life and move to Kalabeyr. The nine of them live in a makeshift tukul, a small room within the compound of one of the town residents.
It is Hawo whom Mark Bowden, United Nations Humanitarian Coordinator for Somalia, might have been thinking of when he said recently: "Resources are woefully inadequate. We have an appeal that is at the moment only 40 per cent met. ... (W)e find ourselves as the humanitarian community in a position that we want and are able to do more, but just don't have the resources with which to do it."
Jesus' words about hunger and thirst, as quoted in Matthew, led me a few years ago to create an NIT version (New Irreverent Translation), one that Americans obsessed with "First World problems" might relate to:
"For I was hungry, while you had all you needed. I was thirsty, but you drank bottled water."
We did not create the desperate conditions of drought and famine threatening the lives of 10 million people in the Horn of Africa. But, as Christians, it is our responsibility to do something about it. It is our moral duty to help our neighbors in need -- here in the U.S. and elsewhere, and God commands us to help those we have the means to help. We cannot look at their situation -- on television, in newspapers or magazines, or on the Internet -- shrug our shoulders, and say, "Not my problem."
Written by Richard Stearns.
Jesus' words are a powerful and inspiring reminder as I sit in my office browsing on news websites the stories and images of the staggering tragedy unfolding in the Horn of Africa.
Nearly 10 million people are "critically short of food," according to the United Nations, due to what UN officials say is the region's worst drought since I was born 60 years ago. Those 10 million people live in Kenya, Ethiopia, Uganda, Djibouti and war-ravaged Somalia.
For some, the stories and images will be reminders of the Ethiopian famine. Twenty-five years ago, the images of bloated, dying children, images unlike any others seen before by millions of Americans, prompted a massive outpouring of donations and offers to help. That outpouring culminated in the "Live Aid," concerts in Philadelphia and London, the latter of which brought a group I had never heard of before to the world's attention -- U2.
For others, the name "Somalia" brings back the events of 1991-1994 when hundreds of thousands of Somalis were starving, prompting a U.S.-led peacekeeping force to intervene. That effort led to a military operation against Somali warlords and, regrettably, the deaths of 42 American soldiers.
I am reminded of two things.
First, the faces, the voices and the stories of people I've met in Kenya, Ethiopia and Uganda. Kenya was the first nation I visited after joining World Vision in 1998, and where I learned one of the most important lessons of my life: Poverty is not an image, or a statistic; poverty has a face, a name and a story.
Second, I am reminded of the powerful and provocative quote from Josef Stalin: "A single death is a tragedy; a million deaths is a statistic."
I fear that for many Americans -- Christians and people of other faiths or no faith -- will devote little time or attention, let alone resources, to the people suffering in the Horn of Africa. Rather they are preoccupied with "First World problems":
~~ How fluctuations in the stock market are affecting my 401(k) investments;
~~ Where to go on my next vacation;
~~ Whether to buy "name brand" or "store brand" items in the supermarket;
~~ Which diet and workout regimen will enable me to lose 10 pounds in a month; or
~~ The struggle over my next computer -- a notebook, a laptop, or the new iPad2?
Or worse, they are obsessed with finding out where Casey Anthony might be living, now that she's been released from jail after being acquitted of charges that she murdered her daughter, Caylee. Thousands of Americans followed Ms. Anthony's trial closely, and expressed outrage when she was found not guilty. They wanted justice for Caylee's death. Where's their outrage or sense of justice for the millions of children at-risk of dying in the Horn of Africa? Their lack of attention proves the late Soviet premier's admonition.
Many "First World" Americans have never met a person with "Third World problems":
~~ Whose income is $2 a day and who has never heard of a 401 (K);
~~ Whose only travel plans are traipsing by foot from Somalia into Kenya to a refugee camp;
~~ Whose primary source of drinking water is infested with animal feces, and has never been inside a supermarket;
~~ Who lost 10 pounds in the last week because of too little or even no food, and who has no use for a health club membership; or
~~ Who has no access to electricity, and does not need -- and maybe has not ever seen -- a computer.
I have the privilege of knowing people facing both First World and Third World problems. It is a privilege because, I believe, Jesus would consider it a privilege. He met with, ate meals alongside and learned from those His society considered its lowest and its outcasts -- prostitutes, tax-collectors, the poor and victims of injustice.
He would have been honored to meet and serve people like Hawo, a woman believed to be about 75-years-old who lives in Kalabeyr, a remote town in northern Somalia. Thanks to my World Vision colleagues working in the region, I know more about Hawo, than I ever will know -- or even want to know -- about Casey Anthony.
After the drought killed the more than 500 goats and sheep Hawo and her eight children lived on, they were forced to abandon their pastoral way of life and move to Kalabeyr. The nine of them live in a makeshift tukul, a small room within the compound of one of the town residents.
It is Hawo whom Mark Bowden, United Nations Humanitarian Coordinator for Somalia, might have been thinking of when he said recently: "Resources are woefully inadequate. We have an appeal that is at the moment only 40 per cent met. ... (W)e find ourselves as the humanitarian community in a position that we want and are able to do more, but just don't have the resources with which to do it."
Jesus' words about hunger and thirst, as quoted in Matthew, led me a few years ago to create an NIT version (New Irreverent Translation), one that Americans obsessed with "First World problems" might relate to:
"For I was hungry, while you had all you needed. I was thirsty, but you drank bottled water."
We did not create the desperate conditions of drought and famine threatening the lives of 10 million people in the Horn of Africa. But, as Christians, it is our responsibility to do something about it. It is our moral duty to help our neighbors in need -- here in the U.S. and elsewhere, and God commands us to help those we have the means to help. We cannot look at their situation -- on television, in newspapers or magazines, or on the Internet -- shrug our shoulders, and say, "Not my problem."
Written by Richard Stearns.
Monday, July 18, 2011
processing the missing
It's funny. Like I said earlier, I didn't miss Uganda all that much when I first left. Not that I was glad to be gone, because given the choice I would have absolutely stayed, but I didn't think about it all the time. As time goes on I miss it more and more.
I don't have any doubt that God put Uganda on my heart almost two years ago for a reason, and allowed me to go there for a reason. I really think I will be going to back at some point because I have such a huge passion for it and God has just been opening up doors for me. And if I don't ever go back, that will be because God has something even better in store for me, so I will have no regrets about not returning.
Even with knowing that, though, I still miss it. I haven't changed the time on my watch yet so when I look at my clock, I know exactly what those kids are doing, and have a little math practice to figure out what time it is here. Part of me wants to still stick toilet paper and a water bottle in my purse when I go places. And all of me wants to have rice and chicken at every meal. Thankfully, my mom has been pretty accommodating to that and I've had plenty of rice since I've been home.
I'm slightly addicted to the pictures of the boys. I look at them all the time. I'm really excited to print off the pictures and make a huge photo album so that I don't have to go on the computer to look at them.
I don't know if I mentioned this in one of my journal entries, but I really love Kampala. And I am NOT a city person so I was not really looking forward to going there since Jinja was so nice and had less of a city feel. But when I got to know the street kids and just had an absolute BLAST with them I started liking it more. And now I just really miss it there sooo much. I could probably write the word "miss" like a gajillion times, but I won't - for my sanity and yours.
I really don't know how much I will continue to write on this blog. Maybe a lot, maybe not. But I'm really glad I made it so that you can read of my adventures and see some of the pictures, and I can put the pictures and stories together and look at them over and over and over and OVER.
I don't have any doubt that God put Uganda on my heart almost two years ago for a reason, and allowed me to go there for a reason. I really think I will be going to back at some point because I have such a huge passion for it and God has just been opening up doors for me. And if I don't ever go back, that will be because God has something even better in store for me, so I will have no regrets about not returning.
Even with knowing that, though, I still miss it. I haven't changed the time on my watch yet so when I look at my clock, I know exactly what those kids are doing, and have a little math practice to figure out what time it is here. Part of me wants to still stick toilet paper and a water bottle in my purse when I go places. And all of me wants to have rice and chicken at every meal. Thankfully, my mom has been pretty accommodating to that and I've had plenty of rice since I've been home.
I'm slightly addicted to the pictures of the boys. I look at them all the time. I'm really excited to print off the pictures and make a huge photo album so that I don't have to go on the computer to look at them.
I don't know if I mentioned this in one of my journal entries, but I really love Kampala. And I am NOT a city person so I was not really looking forward to going there since Jinja was so nice and had less of a city feel. But when I got to know the street kids and just had an absolute BLAST with them I started liking it more. And now I just really miss it there sooo much. I could probably write the word "miss" like a gajillion times, but I won't - for my sanity and yours.
I really don't know how much I will continue to write on this blog. Maybe a lot, maybe not. But I'm really glad I made it so that you can read of my adventures and see some of the pictures, and I can put the pictures and stories together and look at them over and over and over and OVER.
Friday, July 15, 2011
Home
I miss Uganda when I brush my teeth with normal water, don't eat rice and potatoes at every meal, don't have red dirt all over my feet, find toilet paper in the bathrooms, and eat junk food. My clothes don't smell like Africa. I eat at American times. I'm not doing doing the gangsta fist bump with Abdul or counting with Junior. I miss them. I don't want them to forget me as much as I don't want to forget them. I wish when I wash my face and body red dirt would get all over the towels. I wish I brought more home with me. I was learning to be comfortable there and loving the discomfort. I loved worshiping with them. They lyrics took on a whole new meaning when I looked at them from an African point of view. I felt like they really understood what they were singing and praising God for. I miss the genuine-ness of their faith. It's a lot harder to bring that back because it's not cultural here in the USA. I miss the Ugandan handshake. I miss the boys so much. I don't miss the lack of napkins and eating with fingers, but with time I would have adjusted to that, too.
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