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.