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.