Lobby Days.

I’ve signed myself up again for the Northern Uganda Lobby Days.

When I first signed up I doubted my decision for a minute since I’ll have to find money to fly to D.C. about 5 days after I get home.

But after this week, I feel quite confident in my decision.

I’ve had a lot of moments lately that make me feel like I’m in a movie. I wish I could capture the moments with such picturesque scenes and fitting commentary to bring it all home to you and replay it. You might want to come to Lobby Days with me too.

Dennis is the nephew of our first landlord. He was kind of the groundskeeper/estate manager/put-up-with-the-American-girls man on hand. He was the one on the compound every morning when we used to wake up and ask him when the electricity would get hooked up, when our kitchen shelf would be finished, and so on. He was a soft spoken guy who was careful not to make promises when situations were not in his power to control. We would sometimes sit with him as he asked us questions about what life was like in the U.S. He would often offer to take us home to his mother’s house for lunch. We missed him when we moved houses but heard that he went back to school and wasn’t around much anymore. We hadn’t seen him since the beginning of March.

I was desperate for a translator the other day with the kids and started going through my phonebook to see who I could call to help me. I ran across Dennis’ name and found out he was on a three day break from school—and would be happy to help me out. We had a wonderful time working together and teaching the kids new games like Red Rover and charades. Dennis even helped me build a few shelves.

For those three days, we would walk down the road at sunset after leaving the kids as he pushed his bike until I found a boda. This was one of our first conversations:

“Sometimes I wonder if people outside of our country even know about Uganda.”

He went on to tell a story about a friend who had visited Australia and told someone about his home country. The person had never heard of Uganda before and went home to look it up online.

I told Dennis about how many people had become aware of Uganda, and particularly the North, because of the war that lasted for so long.

We talked together about the good and bad points to this. It’s wonderful to get international attention as long as it is successful in bringing an end to a war. But, people may not realize what a beautiful place Gulu is when they have only seen images of war. Ugandans who live in Kampala are even shocked to hear that we live in Gulu some times because they’ve never been here and have only heard of Kony.

The next day as we were walking back, Dennis started talking about how two years ago, we wouldn’t have been working at this center with the kids. It was too far out of town and considered rebel territory.

This is so hard for me to imagine. Especially as we passed groups of kids playing under a mango tree or saw an old woman digging in her garden at sunset. I’ve read so much and studied so much about this war and now that I’m here, I sometimes forget that these are the people I’ve been reading about through the years.

When we draw pictures with the kids, you can tell how old they are by what kind of pictures they draw. When we draw what we like and what we hate, it’s the older kids that all write images of war and write those words—“I hate war”. They remember very clearly what war is like and want never to return to such a time.

“I was one of those kids, ya know. One of those that walked to town because of fear of the rebels. I walked 32 kilometers.”

Dennis eventually moved to town with his mother but commuted for a long time because his father refused to leave their village. I tried to imagine Dennis, a small soft-spoken 10 year old, walking 32 kilometers into town.

We talked more in depth of the terrible things the rebels did. Then we talked about the fact that Gulu has found a sense of peace but that the same rebels are continuing the same horrific things on similar villages in neighboring countries. I just read a disturbing article in the paper about a 16 year old kid in Sudan who was telling what he used to have to do to the victims he was forced to kill when he was in the LRA. It is simply beyond comprehension.

It seemed as if the movie continued. Eric, my new favorite boda driver (and probably the best in all of Gulu) came and picked me up. As we were riding through town at my favorite time (sunset), he also started talking to me about how different things were now compared to what they used to be. He talked about how kids who were growing up now in Gulu were real kids—enjoying their life and not living in fear. As he talked, we passed a group of kids playing some game together and laughing hysterically. Another one of those movie moments.

What struck me the most from all of these conversations was not just how much better things are in Gulu right now than they used to be, but the fact that these same stories of war continue with the same rebels in this region. When I visit my representatives in D.C. in June, I’ll be asking them to do all in their power to support an end to the terror campaign of the Lord’s Resistance Army. It’s time for it to end. It’s time for children to grow up in peace, for businesses to expand, and for farmers to return to their land.

If you’re interested, you can come too. Here’s the link:

http://www.howitends.tv/

These are the ones I’ll miss the most.

I’m not sure why, but I have come to enjoy my time with these wonderful ladies more and more these days. It amazes me how well you can come to know someone, all while speaking different languages. Today I tried to imagine what life will be like without seeing these women regularly. I can’t.

Although only a few of these women speak English and (ashamedly) my Luo is still at such an elementary level, we have come to know each other. We laugh often. We speak about the future. We talk about business, family, school fees, cooking, church, conflicts, celebrations, saving money, losing money, getting cheated, trusting God, and the list continues. When there are no English-speaking members to translate the details, we stop, look at each other, laugh in unison, and try again.

I’m constantly astounded by these ladies. I try to appreciate the way God made me and the culture I was born into, but I often feel so small and weak compared to these women. They don’t get to go to school as long as their brothers do, if at all. They have lived through 20 years of war and a couple years of peace now. They are the ones who dig, who feed the children, who cook the meals, who pay the bills . . . you name it. I visited one of our children’s homes the other day and found her mother in the “kitchen” hut, slaving away over a smoking fire, stirring dinner, while feeding one of her babies in her left arm at the same time—all while kneeling.

Sarah’s husband died and his family stole all of her belongings. She was left with nothing. Ruth’s nephew took her bank card and emptied her bank account. And all of them speak quite transparently about their immediate anger and then just as quickly, their need to forgive and trust God.

Auma Josephine told me today that when I go home, I still need to call her and see how she’s doing. For those of you who will see a lot of me this summer, I hope you ask me if I’ve called her. Don’t forget to keep me from forgetting.

For those of you who are still amazed by this process of paper beads, I’d love to show you in detail how they do it when I get home. They’ve trained me well. We’ve been rolling a lot of beads lately and cutting paper on our new paper cutter. We’ve also been meeting every Tuesday and saving our money together. We talked today about how I’ll have to come back in December or January if I want to see my money again; that’s when they open the village bank. I might start praying for just that.

Thank you again to all of you who support me in such wonderful ways. I look forward to seeing you again soon and being able to thank you with stories that you made possible during my time here. Our God is so creative, so humorous, so loving. I can’t wait to share with you more of how I saw Him during my time here in Gulu.

Til next time.

lessons learned.

“Sometimes you’ll be surprised at how well people respond to honesty and perhaps it’s a good thing for them to realize that things aren’t very easy here, maybe it’ll be a way to share your world here with people at home.”

That’s what Dr. Andy told me today as I spoke with him outside the clinic. Dr. Andy is from England; he was here about 8 weeks ago and just came back today to visit the clinic. He asked me how I was doing and I told him everything, very honestly.

Some of you have been brought into the events of the last week (and month) and for that I am thankful and a bit sorry all at the same time. Especially for those of you who have had to listen to me more than others. (Again, very thankful for you and very sorry for all the time you’ve spent listening to me.)

I had a breaking point last Wednesday and decided to book an early flight home. I had prayed about it and thought about it, and even felt confirmed in the decision when one of the ladies I work with said she felt like God had told her the weekend before at her church conference that I was leaving early. It all seemed like a very good idea at the time. I had had a lot of physical issues that had come up in the past month that were simply stress related. Some were just chronic symptoms and then others were 24 hour in bed sicknesses. I was frustrated when the doctor told me that stress was the root issue because I couldn’t seem to do much to fix the situation. There were some stomach issues he gave me some pills for and told me that this was one of the major causes of my exhaustion/tiredness. Very quickly, the physical exhaustion turned into an attack on the rest of me—my thoughts and emotions. I felt like I was coming apart at the seams. I made a list of reasons for staying versus going home in the next two weeks and going home seemed to win. I thought it was all very logical reasoning, but I had also only had about 3 hours of sleep the night before. I had cried a lot up to that point, and continued to cry.

As soon as the day after this decision was made and the ticket was booked, I started feeling better. I was still a bit tired but overall, the rest of the symptoms were gone. I felt like I was thinking clearly for the first time in three weeks. Thinking that I only had a week left made me do things differently. I sought out the ladies I work with in their homes and in their places of work. I had some wonderful conversations with them and wondered why I hadn’t made regular visits to their home a priority before this. We talked about poverty, injustice, hardships, and about accepting the ways of God in all that comes our way. They encouraged me to go home and to try and sell their necklaces and if nothing else, to not forget about them.

After making this decision to go home early I also ran across one of my favorite kids from the center, Odong Albert. His whole cheek and lip were infected and badly swollen and he was crying from the pain. He didn’t have any money for the clinic. I took him and his father to the clinic that day for it to get cleaned out. I happened to see him the next day while I was on a boda and picked him up and gave him a ride in to the clinic again. I started thinking about how if I left according to plan, I may not have a chance to say good-bye to many of the kids.

Over the next few days I began to see that I had done this to myself in many ways. I believe very much in the connection between physical sickness and emotional well being. I finally saw that with all of the tough stuff that had happened since coming to Gulu, I had largely tried to shoulder it myself. I hadn’t taken a real break from the place since moving here and I had hit a wall that seemed impossible to climb or to push through.

And that was it, I had to stop climbing and pushing. I finally wept to God instead of crying to myself about all the bad stuff.

Perhaps this is too honest for a very public blog, but this is the real story.

I have realized very much in the last few days that I am not yet finished here in Gulu. I know I’ll be ready to go later on but I still need some more time to learn how Jesus loves. I’m not yet finished with the work here although I’m ready to step it down a bit. As much as I’d love to go home and hold my new baby nephew and to see my friends who still love me well from a different continent and to watch my wonderful baby sister graduate high school after working so hard from the 9 year old who didn’t speak any English, this is still it—I’m not finished here yet.

I’m sorry for those of you who thought you might see me in a week. So much of me wished to be there. But I am feeling good here, I’m still loving Gulu, and I feel so much healthier than when I booked that ticket. I know I’m not finished here yet and also that the time is coming soon enough for me to be home. If I left now, I think I would have many regrets.

If you could pray for me in the coming weeks, I would appreciate it very much. Grace is a lovely gift of which I have received much of in the last week but I stand in need of more. My eyes have been reopened to the beauty in this place amidst the hard stuff. My little neighbor boy was playing with a baby goat while trying to wave to me as I passed him on a boda today. He smiled his biggest smile and waved as quickly as he could with his free hand. I visited two of the ladies I work with in the market today where they sell their fried ants and sorghum. (One pictured above.) Their kids peeked out from behind their mothers’ knees to greet me. They’re absolutely beautiful. I want to keep appreciating beauty in the next six weeks.

Pray that the love of God would go deep in me, that the spirit of God would flow freely through me, and that the friendship of God would sustain me.

Thank you for loving me so well from so far away.

Self Portrait.

I was watching the fishermen (there's one directly above the word "wonder").

Good stuff from Henri.

My weekend was wonderful. I revisited some of the words of my favorite author, Henri Nouwen. This is the hammock I sat on for hours, overlooking the Nile. Wish you all could have such a weekend, it's incredible how we forget to rest and I'm sure a lot of you could use a little rest in your life.

Lately.

I’m back in Kampala again.

Kampala in all of its glory and all of its misery. Eating Mexican food and going bowling with a few other Gulu expats who are in Kampala (perhaps my best game ever—110), getting lost in the busy crowded shuffle of Kampala’s streets, fighting with boda drivers who charge way too much for poor service (they are at least 4 times as expensive as Gulu bodas), enjoying faster internet, brighter colors, and cooler temperatures; putting up with polluted air, noisy streets, and the (sometimes enjoyable) loneliness in a big city feeling.

I was fortunate enough to skip out on the long sweaty bus ride and got a ride from a friend who works for WarChild Canada. This meant air conditioning, no cost, and as much as 2 hours less on the road, (as well as good conversation.)

Saad asked me what’s coming next. Time is flying and June is almost here. Poor unsuspecting friends/acquaintances ask such simple questions and know very little that they’re opening up a two hour conversation on development theory, personal dreams, biggest fears, and so on. Good thing the ride from Gulu to Kampala is as long as it is.

This little question made me realize that I’ve been thinking a whole lot lately about the things that matter to me, what I believe in most passionately, and what part of the Big Story I’m supposed to play. I keep coming back to this quote by Fredrich Buechner,

“The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.”

This place that he refers to sometimes keeps me awake at night. If a typical animal sound wakes me up outside my window too early in the morning, this is the thought that keeps me from rolling over and falling back asleep.

I told Saad I’ve pinpointed some of my fears lately. If I think about getting years more of experience in the field and potentially pursue a Masters Degree in a development-related field, I am investing a lot of time and energy into landing a position with (most likely) a large development agency. I’ve seen how difficult it can be at times to get such jobs. It will take a lot of determination to get there. More importantly, however, I have seen that I could very well spend another four or five years just to get a position and find out that I don’t necessarily believe in the mission that I have finally received. You see, I am not ready to put all NGO’s in one big group and say they’re worthless, ineffective, and a waste of resources. I have seen NGO’s (such as WarChild Canada) that are worthwhile and effective and fill a legitimate need in a community.

At the same time, I have seen a lot of wasted resources. I have seen how Ugandan students choose to study community development at University instead of business not because they care about development, but because they see that this is where the money is. I have seen how a post-conflict area can become ripe with dependency on NGO’s in the midst of all good intentions and foreign aid and hot programs that involve words such as “community-owned”, “sustainable”, and the like. I applaud organizations who seem to have the best current models of community development—I shudder at the thought that they may also be responsible for the same pattern of dependency down the road. I am often quick to judge, and then terrified by the fact that I often fit the profile of what I loathe so much.

I’m learning, growing, and searching probably even more than my days in college. (Somehow it’s a lot easier to figure out the world’s problems when you’re just reading books and writing papers.)

My newest topic that consumes much of my time and energy is thinking through the power of markets and what real economic justice looks like. I am continually amazed at the dignity a steady income gives an individual.

Temporary digression: *Irony? Coincidence? I think not. I have been skipping back between my email and typing this as I wait for an email from my director. Instead, I find an email from a family I have known for six years now in Uganda. They have a beautiful little boy who is severely handicapped and daily struggle to care for him—not to mention their inability to pay rent. They have just emailed saying they want desperately to start some sort of business, have been taught how to make paper beads, and want to meet soon to come up with other ideas. And how am I to respond? Paper beads are beautiful but no longer have much of a market in Uganda. And what am I to do now? Where does my deep gladness and the world’s deepest hunger meet? These are the things that fill my prayers and my quiet thoughts.

So this is where I am, exploring the ideas of marketing such products, bringing together my two worlds (Great Lakes regions of two different continents), even in the midst of a struggling economy. Just a dream? Maybe. But dreams sometimes turn into prayers and those prayers sometimes turn into reality so we’ll just wait patiently and see how God leads . . .

I made one of the best decisions I’ve made in a while. I’ve booked a small hut on the bank of the Nile in Jinja this weekend for two nights—it’s actually a retreat center I’ve heard about from multiple people now. I can’t wait to get away from the pressures and exhaustion from Gulu and the busyness and pollution of Kampala to a quiet place. (Oh, and to be on the Nile. That’s going to be pretty wonderful too.)

Much love to you all.

School Fees

“School Fees!!” Sarah shouts as she raises her two hands in the air. Sarah just received two payments—one payment for her loose beads that will be combined with other beads for Niyee Designs creations, another payment from my pocket for a few of her multi-colored strands that might not have found a place in our recent order, but will make great gifts for my friends back home.

Sarah is one of the key members of Niyee Designs. She has played a large part in training most of the women in Niyee Designs in the art of transforming magazine and calendar paper into beautiful beads. She is a mobilizer, an organizer, and a true artist. She has an eye for colors and patterns and takes delight in her completed necklaces, bracelets, and earrings.

Not only does she take joy in creating beautiful jewelry, she takes great delight in providing for the people she loves. She often mentions this as her reason for being committed to her work. “Why would we not take this seriously if this is what is feeding our families and sending our children to school?”

Paper bead jewelry. Beautiful, unique, and enjoying a growing popularity among those who appreciate the artistry and the story behind each piece. That particular color brings out your eyes and that little bead hints of your love for the earth in the recycled strip of paper which still bears a few of its original words.

But there’s a much larger story behind that lovely necklace. As Sarah shouted when she received her payment last week, those beads send kids to school. The income generated from these beads also help the ladies start up small businesses they can run individually, in their own communities.

Niyee Designs officially launched its brand and business in November of last year and has since completed orders from the U.S., scheduled a small business training course to take place in March, and acquired a “village bank” to begin group savings and loans. Its members include young mothers as well as grandmothers who are providing for multiple children in their care.

Niyee. It means peace in the Luo language. The members chose this word not only to represent the kind of peaceful community they are working toward after 20 years of war, but to draw attention to the kind of peace that entered their hearts when Christ came into their lives.

Niyee Designs' story continues to unfold. Keep in touch and learn how you can partner with us in the future.

Some ideas to think about:

Would you like to do a fundraiser for our organization by selling our beads? Let us know.

Would you like to know anything more about our members or our products? Drop us an email.

Would you like to visit us? You're most welcome . . .

Living in the Tension

Disclaimer: I wrote this at 1:00 am last night when I couldn't sleep so . . . it all made sense at the time.

I believe it was my dear friend (as I like to think of him), Henri Nouwen, who introduced me to this small phrase. These four words seem to find me out when there are no other words to express the feelings that are deep down inside of me, especially on days like today.

Living in the tension takes all sorts of shapes and forms. Here’s one example: how does an American, although living on fundraised money and without much to spare (relatively speaking), know how to operate faithfully in an environment with extreme need—not only of strangers but also of people close to her heart? Tears haven’t helped much. People can give advice, but it’s a decision they have decided for themselves—a decision that might not easily translate into my (or hers, if we’re keeping this in the third person) situation. Living in this kind of tension takes discernment, wisdom, compassion, and a listening heart.

Another kind of tension that I’m facing daily is one of effectiveness vs. faithfulness. I found a quote from a book I had to read last year called “Mere Discipleship” that helps express this kind of tension.

“And yet ‘effectiveness’, as if a quantitative ‘bottom line’ is the only and sole measure of ‘success’, completely ignores the question of faithfulness: to what are we called, and to whom are we accountable?”

I had one of those days today. I think a lot of people from home, including those who support me, picture a very romantic and adventurous life I live over here. I have my moments—the kind of scenes you may picture for one living in Uganda, working with a wonderful community in a small village called Bungatira, just outside of Gulu town. But the majority of my time is not like the pictures I may show you some day. The camera doesn’t usually come out for the mundane.

I spent nearly three hours trying to send out a newsletter—unsuccessfully. This isn’t even the first time I’ve tried to send it—I’ve had a go at it about two or three other days within the past couple of weeks. Yahoo wouldn’t send and wouldn’t tell me why, I had to export the addresses to gmail. Gmail wouldn’t load properly. It finally loaded. It wouldn’t attach the newsletter. It finally attached. The addresses were in, the message was written, the newsletter was attached. It looked like it was sending. But it didn’t send. This small task took up most of my morning, and part of the afternoon.

In the meantime, I became very overwhelmed with the things that need to be done in the next two weeks and seriously wondered if I was cut out for this position. I looked at the stories that should be written for Partners Worldwide, the business plan for our handcraft group that should be improved on, the ideas we have for moving forward even though they all scare me just a little bit since my “official commitment” is up in June even though there’s plenty to keep me busy for years to come. I responded to emails and drew a sketch for a Norwegian guy that might help weld us some racks for storing our necklaces.

(This is an example of this romantic adventurous life I lead)

Then it was nearly 4:00 and it was time to go to the centre. We were going to meet the kids—they’ve been drawing some pictures for a British couple who will be making their pictures into books for kids in England. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, I was tired, and I was very frustrated with my day of dead ends. I thought I might take my camera along and get some pictures of some of these kids coloring their pictures. I was proud of myself for remembering to charge the batteries at the office since we still have no power at home. Before we walked out the door I realized I didn’t have a memory card with me. Some days those dead ends really add up to a lot of frustration.

So I went to the center. It was raining when we got there and the kids were under the shelter, cheering and waving and very excited to draw their new pictures.

While the kids were filling the small building and crayons and colored pencils were spreading from one corner to another, I stepped outside. There were four kids outside of the building, looking as if this was their normal and accepted place—on the fringe. None of our kids have different clothes than you’d expect from a war-affected village in Northern Uganda but you still notice a definite difference of a relative affluence even in this setting. The kids outside were shy, fearful, and seemed to understand that this was their place—outside. I brought some paper and crayons to them and started drawing with them. I had to encourage them to draw and kept handing them pencils and crayons until they began. A few of the kids really started to enjoy themselves. Until, of course, a boy nearby started to mock their efforts when he saw their attempt at drawing a cow or a goat. It is still so frustrating to not be able to speak or understand Luo. I knew very well that he was mocking them but could do very little to stop it or counter it, since James (the one translating) was busy. My guess is that these kids outside are not in school. I hadn’t seen them before today; they must’ve come because they heard something was happening at the centre.

I sat with these few boys for the remainder of our time. I wondered what their life would be like as they grew up and if this was a simple case of childhood bullying or if this was the beginning of their identity as they would know it for the rest of their lives—living on the fringe. I was suddenly brought back to why I’m here.

Living in the tension. I sometimes have a hard time finding value in the mundane and frustrating aspects of living here and doing the work I do. A simple email or internet glitch can be enough to set you over the edge when it seems as though someone has been playing a trick on you all day (or all month) and things don’t seem to turn out the way they should.

But what if the emails I send and the conference calls I hold and the measuring beads and buying paper in Owino market turn into a small income for some of the parents in this small community? What if these parents use that small income to start another small business so they are no longer caring only for their own children but also for kids who have lost their parents and haven’t gone to school? If we are judging our days by effectiveness, I would not have passed any sort of bar for today. It was a miserable start and seemed to go downhill from there. But if we’re measuring our days by faithfulness, I have a lot more questions to be asking of myself. Who am I faithful and accountable to? For whom am I working? How much worth do I ascribe to successfully sending some emails? What worth is there in sitting with a few kids for an hour and a half while they color a picture, even if we don’t speak the same language?
Here’s another quote from my dear friend Henri,

“Service is an expression of the search for God and not just of the desire to bring about individual or social change”.

In both the mundane and the memory-making moments, I am searching for God. I am asking Him how to live a life of faithfulness and see my days with this framework instead of simply one of effectiveness. I think this is the way we were meant to live.

I never cease to be shocked each time one of you reminds me that I haven’t written on here for a while. It means that you actually read what I write (and that’s what surprises me.)

I often start writing a blog post and quit because I have too many things I want to write about, and then I never end up posting anything. I’ve concluded that this time I should attempt covering a lot of topics and do my best at being concise (not an easy task for me.)

Here goes . . .

The Holidays.

Different. Relaxing. Not as bad as I thought it might be. I missed seeing my little niece and nephew discover Christmas gifts since they were still pretty young last year to really appreciate it. But I thoroughly enjoyed my time in Mukono spent with people I shared a semester with last year—a couple of fellow students and the directors for the study abroad program (who also have two beautiful kids.)

The Work.

Challenging. Exhausting. Inspiring. Coming back to Gulu and facing the dry heat and the scorching sun is always a challenge. But then hearing one of the kids yell my name on a bike while I was on my motorbike and then slowing down so we could talk (in our limited shared language) while riding next to each other was wonderful. (That was not a concise sentence). Such small moments like that can so quickly assure me that I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. I had a similar moment today when I decided to ride on the back of a Lorry with the Parents Group. (Don’t worry mom, it was not a long distance. And very, very safe J.) I’m really starting to love the families in this community, even though I’m so far from really knowing them on a deep level.
Most of my time is now spent building up the handcraft group, trying to market their things locally and internationally, meeting with them weekly and discussing things like creativity and quality and praying hard that I don’t screw anything up along the way. But you’ll also find me writing newsletters, taking pictures of a Heifer Project exchange visit, scrubbing equipment as we open up the new clinic, and networking with local NGO’s. I’m quite sure I’ve never worked so hard before. I’m also quite sure I’ve never enjoyed work this much, despite its many challenges.

The House. (And new roommate)

Almost Finished. I was up early Friday morning moving my things into our new place. Even though there’s no power hooked up yet, I’m still happy with the decision. It’s very near the clinic and the community centre—my little moped (which I should probably name) doesn’t have to work as hard to reach the place. I think my new roommate, Anna, will appreciate the decision too. Anna flies in on Wednesday. I can’t tell you how excited I am to have her here. And since we’re still looking for roommates, we have a nice, unfurnished guest room for you to stay in if you care to visit.

Friends.

In Gulu? Not many yet, unless you count my four year old neighbor that still comes and visits and seems to love me even though our communication is limited. Of course I’m becoming friends with the people I’m working with in the community too. But as far as those deep friendships go, I haven’t acquired too many along the way. But I guess that’s what is helping me reflect; I’ve spent a lot of time lately thinking about the solid community of people I have at home that I love and respect and really miss.
I had two of my closest friends of 7 years get engaged within about 4 days of each other around Christmas. I was waiting for this to happen, but it’s still a really big deal. I am so happy about the men they’re marrying—I can’t imagine not being happy about someone who is going to spend the rest of their life with your best friend. I only wish I were there to hear them tell the stories in person (Especially Esther because she’s a very expressive story teller and I haven’t heard many details yet.)
I’m appreciating the gift of my friendship with Alicia more than ever these days. Even as we’re a world apart, her carefully chosen words come at the times I most need them. She often reminds me of our friends words that we spent so much time with this summer—Henri Nouwen. I miss our times together with the three of us at our local coffee shop but I’m especially grateful for modern technology when it comes to this area.

The War

Never-ending. Once again, the newspapers here are full of headlines highlighting the most shocking details of Kony’s most recent killing spree. Around Christmas I think the numbers reached over 500 killed by his rebel army. (And for the record, these were outside the borders of Uganda—in DRC and Southern Sudan.) There are many opinions around the tactics of the UPDF’s attacks on the LRA. I was pleased to see U.S. Senator Feingold’s criticism of the operation in the Newspaper today. Since I’m trying to keep this concise I’ll leave out the rest of my opinion at this time and simply ask for your prayers. I’m often praying that fighting will never return to Northern Uganda. I need to start praying more for the innocent victims in the DRC and Southern Sudan who are currently suffering from the LRA’s attacks.

My Heart

I’ll try not to make this too personal for those of you who don’t know me well.
Physically, my heart is probably not getting enough exercise—at least it’s been added to my New Years Resolutions.
In every other way, however, I think my heart is getting plenty of exercise—it seems to cover such a wide range of emotions and dreams and heartbreaks, sometimes all within an hour.
You see, at times your heart really does break over untold suffering you witness, or hearing stories that are almost too devastating to believe they’re true.
And then at other times, your heart breaks because it’s not being broken over the disparities you see in the world. You suddenly realize you’ve accepted that things are just the way they are, and that it’s too tiring to acknowledge suffering around you.
I have been known to suddenly let out a soft but vocal sigh—whether surrounded by others or seated alone. That’s usually when the place in my heart for my niece and nephew takes over. It usually happens when I see another boy or girl their age and wonder how tall Isaac and Laney will be when I get home. I miss them so much.
For some reason, my heart often swells with gratitude around dusk each day in Gulu. No matter how exhausting the day was, this particular time of day manages to still the voices of to-do lists and worries and puts my life and my existence in perspective. Perhaps it’s the expansive sky. It’s always there but you’re busy hiding from its scorching rays during earlier hours. At dusk, you can’t help but try and take it in. The temperature is perfect, every scene seems like it would make a beautiful photograph or postcard. Vocabulary is failing me. I wish you could just come and experience it for yourself.

My heart has been especially difficult to manage in the last week for some reason. It turned into an opportunity to be very thankful for a God who can handle such matters even when I can’t.

In Conclusion

Turns out, this post wasn’t so concise. I have plenty more to tell you but it will have to wait until next time. Thanks for making it to the end.