I'm beginning to understand how true it is, that we may never quite "feel" at home while we are here on earth…no matter where we're from, nor where faith takes us. I feel somewhat settled here in Uganda, yet at the same time somewhat unsettled that it's starting to feel like a home here. I recently learned that I'll be here for at least another year working for Restore International – I'm both thrilled and scared. Not terrified, not full of fear, but a little uneasy about being gone for another year only because I do not know what it means for my life. I mean, I can't imagine my life any other way – I can't imagine doing anything else, I absolutely love my job. I guess there are just so many uncertainties. At the same time that I feel scared about what it means, there is a freedom in not worrying about it – in truly being able to say to God that I'm His and He can use me in any way He wants, for whatever He wants, for however long He wants to. Reckless abandonment is how Brennan Manning puts it. I'm not sure if I'm truly recklessly abandoned – but I hope to be one day. Kidogo kidogo – is Swahili, for little by little. I've repeated this phrase shamelessly over the last month. I've been forced to slow down, things are slow here, but in typical American fashion I'm just as busy as ever. As fatigue sets in, I have no choice but to really look inward and upward. So many unresolved issues still haunt my heart. So many uncried tears are surfacing as I try to process the things I've seen these last 6 months. I don't understand any of it – so much of what I've seen and come to realize does not make sense to me – and it hurts. It hurts to see people hurt. It hurts to see people suffer. It hurts to feel helpless in a situation that is so overwhelming. It hurts to encounter the hopeless…to search in the eyes of someone, and not see a glimmer of hope.
It hurts to be taken advantage of, but I don't blame them. It hurts to realize how cynical I've become…always on guard, trusting few, and constantly expecting that I'll be tricked, somehow. It's a horrible lens to view people through. I feel like as much as I've been deceived, I'm also deceiving b/c of what is going on in my head when someone is talking to me these days. I suppose this is part of the learning curve, I've heard that it's a natural process. I'm told I will always be viewed as a foreigner who is "rich". This reality is tough to swallow, though likely not as tough as the reality that drives people to hopelessness.
I know there is a Greater Reality, but I must admit I sometimes forget.
At the same time I'm processing these strange things, I'm surrounded by beauty – and I'm not so disenchanted that I can't see that the beauty is all around me. People are amazing in their resilience to the beatings of the world. I'm learning of this resilience too. People are beautiful in their suffering, perhaps b/c their vulnerability is exposed, masks removed, and authenticity shines. I'm learning about joy. It is hard enough for me to comprehend my first hand experience, much less explain via email, the transformation I've witnessed in the girls we've rescued. Its best described as a resurrection – they literally come back to life – and I've had the unanticipated privilege to witness this. Empty eyes turn to dancing wells of the laughter incessantly bubbling from somewhere deep within. Angry stares turn to contagious smiles. The voiceless become an earful, a constant earful of chatter, whimsical nonsense, and endless praise. Really, it may sound as though I'm painting an idealistic picture – how could a girl who's been raped, abused, abandoned, used and left to die turn into one of these joyful creations I'm describing? I ask myself the same thing almost everyday, I don't get it either. If you ask one of them, they'll tell you without hesitation that it all can be attributed to Love, to Grace, to Mercy. Or how about the lady who cleans my house? She's a widow with 7 children minus one who died. Her husband and son died in the same year, one from HIV/AIDS and one from a disease Americans haven't had to worry about for half a century. She left her village to come to Kampala to raise 6 children on her own b/c her late husband's family took everything they owned and tried to marry off her 13 year old daughter. She too is HIV positive, yet comes to work faithfully, always on time, greets me with a shy childlike smile…and works harder and with more joy than most people I've encountered.
There is so much I don't understand. I'm unsure about a lot of things. Not unsure of God's existence, but unsure of what His existence looks like in my life. Not unsure of salvation, or grace, or mercy. But what do these things look like – from the outside in. I'm not making sense. I guess my question really is... what does it mean to be a Christian? I could answer in all the shallow ways we learn at Sunday school, but it would leave me unsatisfied.
I know God loves the world... perhaps, it's just that simple.
My experience has only begun.
There is much more to learn, so much more to see. More suffering, more questions, more to not understand.
And there is more beauty, more joy, more authenticity, more grace, more mercy and more love.
I look forward to the journey.
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