i laugh...

student at Lwani Memorial College in Atiak Uganda

“I laugh, I love, I hope, I try, I hurt, I need, I fear, I cry. And I know you do the same things too, So we're really not that different, me and you.”

season's change...

I’m coming to the end of my second year in Uganda, and as all of you know, it’s been full of joy, sorrow, frustration, growth and discovery. I have discovered so much about the world, about Africa, about God, about friendship, about life and about death, and about me. Every moment of my time here has been full and it seems that every minute I have been learning.

I'm heading home in 2 weeks. I can't believe it. I'm prepping myself for the end of my time here in Uganda. In a word, I'm heartbroken. I actually don’t know for sure if my time here in Uganda is over, but I need to prepare as it is a likely possibility. I’m leaving on good terms, but for me personally I'll leave with a broken heart. It’s been a long year of tiresome endless work to get a title for the land that we are purchasing in Northern Uganda. Thank you for all of you who have faithfully supported us in prayer. This land will be the permanent home for Restore Academy, and we are just around the corner from reaching that monumental goal. While Restore has decided not to send me back unless we attain the land title, everything Restore is doing now will continue to be pursued by a new volunteer who came to Uganda about a month ago. He is an amazing young man and I have full confidence that he will do an extra-ordinary job here in Uganda, and that each kid that passes through Restore Academy will know that they are loved. In the end what is most important to me is that the vision of restoring hope and life to youth is implemented here in Uganda. It is the kids I care most about and adore with all my heart, so it does not matter if it’s me or someone else implementing the vision as long as it’s carried out.

Last year I wrote to all of you that I am up for anything, ready to “let go in reckless confidence all that frightens me with the uncertainty of tomorrow” (Brennan Manning). A year later and I still haven’t quite figured out this reckless confidence thing but I have learned a lot about letting go and I’m pretty sure God is teaching me how to have reckless confidence in Him. I’m still up for anything, even if it means being broken hearted for a time. A friend shared a compelling quote with me recently, it says “…our finest moments are most likely to occur when we are feeling deeply uncomfortable, unhappy, or unfulfilled. For it is only in such moments, propelled by our discomfort that we are likely to step out of our ruts and start searching for different ways and truer answers...”. And so, I'm just trying to keep smiling and not grow bitter by my brokenness, but rather keep loving people no matter what. I’m trying to trust God and finish the work God has given me for this season of my life faithfully. I feel more gratitude than words can express to have been able to be here at all, and am doing my best to embrace the changing seasons of life with grace and integrity, knowing that nothing is certain in this life except God Himself.

frustrations.

Let us not be defeated by these frustrations we face. Let us instead pour our energy into compassion for all the people we encounter. As I look into the eyes of people, of old men and women, their deep sorrow melts away my anger and yet increases my frustration for their loss at the same time. As we move forward, let us continue praying and fighting in the heavenlies for a vision that sets our brothers and sisters and children free. May we remember for whom that vision is for and from Whom it came from. And let us look into the eyes of those who SEEK something from us as Jesus did the woman who touched His cloak desperate for healing. Let us ACCEPT those who frustrate us as Jesus did those who interrupted his dinner parties with tears at His feet. And let us FORGIVE those who are against us as Jesus did we who hung Him on the cross. For without His heart, we have nothing to offer.

Come Sit With Me (a short story)

My name is Nyero. I am a young man. Newly married, eager to care for my new bride and start a family of my own. The dirt I stand on has been faithful to my father and to my father’s father, and to my grandfather’s father. This soil has given me life, it has birthed the materials for my home, and it has covered my dead. I grew up playing in this mud with my closest friends. They have always been by my side. The brother I follow knows my deepest desires, my most intimate fears, my most secret secrets. He sees my strengths more clearly than I ever will. I cannot imagine life without him. Father has raised me here in Acholi land, with my brothers and sisters. Teaching us how to dig, teaching us how to care for the soil. Helping us to understand the complexities of the nature that sustains our livelihood. If we pay attention and follow in his footsteps we won’t ever be hungry. Father and Mother work tirelessly, from them I learn devotion. The land is faithful. Our families will always be provided for. Acholi Land has never been better. Our schools are among the best in the country. We are flourishing as a people. We are strong and we are dignified.

My bride is young and the two of us hardly know each other. Yet I feel so much for her that there is an actual physical ache in my chest when I think of her. At the site of her my heart might actually stop. At her scent my desire grows so intense I can’t see straight. How is it possible to feel so strongly yet have no idea how to describe this feeling?

There are rumors of a rebellion in the south…

Our village is warm and peaceful. All is as it should be. I’ve witnessed a lot over the years. Father has told me countless stories of the first white men in our land. They have divided our tribes and families. But we are a strong people. We have persevered as they have attempted to take our land and change our ways. This land will yet feed me and my clan, just as it always has. What is this word the white man uses? Poverty? Poor? He says it over and over, yet I’m not sure what he is getting at and why he is so insistent on changing us. It’s as if he thinks something is wrong with our people. My clan elders are old and wise. From them I learn of the strength and history of our people.

It is the early 1990’s and alas I understand War’s power. Its destruction has eaten away my hopes. My friends and the brother I follow lay dead at the hand of a rebel. This rebel is one of us who says he fights for our freedom, yet his violence has instead enslaved. We can trust no one. The government soldiers and the rebels are somehow similar. I do not understand. This camp does protect us, this camp does not feed us. Our land is only a short walk away, yet even it is untouchable. It no longer cures the ache of the hunger consuming my family. The land cannot heal the pain this war has created in my deepest heart. Yet I must remain strong, I have a family to care for. What kind of man does not, can not protect his family and feed his own children?

This war has stolen our children. All that remains are the cries of their wailing mothers and the sound of their screams in our heads. What is life without children? There is no life at all, only desolate hearts aching for their return. Who will follow us? Who will carry on our traditions? Who will be left standing when we pass away? And where have they taken our children? They have been taken in the night. Most do not return, and those that do no longer have life dancing in their eyes. Instead they carry with them a darkness I cannot understand. Our people are a people of dancing, dancing bodies, dancing hearts, dancing eyes. Our children’s bodies know how to dance, but their hearts do not. Their eyes are weary. We are a dancing people, yet we do not dance any more.

My heart is weary. I too am tired of war. I am tired of our children being taken and I am tired of our women being abused. I am tired of our men being defeated by the daily struggle to live. What kind of people will our children grow up to be? Those in the bush do not know the love of a Mother or Father. They have no respect for their elders. We are a tired people. Our men drink to forget. I cannot blame them, I too drink to forget. But I cannot forget. I fear the world has forgotten us.

And now the white man is back. This time he comes with the words “aid” and “development” and “NGO” and “charity”. They dig wells for water and pits for waste, but there is never enough. They hand out food, but we are still hungry. They speak of health and sanitation, but these ideals have somehow been buried with our murdered families. They talk of education, but we left our schools in the villages long ago. The replacement schools are overcrowded and our teachers are tired. White people talk to us about a lot of things, but I fear they do not understand. All we truly want is peace. They live here in Uganda, but they do not live with us. They drive fancy cars, but they do not walk with us. They cannot understand the dignity our people once bore. They do not know how our hearts used to dance. Instead of trying to understand us, they pity us. Instead of talking with us, they talk to us. And we do not expect they ever will understand, for they do not care to ask.

So they give and we take. This is how the relationship is. All we have to give them is our time. All we have to give is what is left of ourselves. But they do not have time for our time. They do not want what is left of us. They do not ask us to share what we have to offer.So they give and we take. Their intentions are good. Perhaps they think we have nothing to give back. Perhaps they simply don’t want it.

I am confused by these do-gooders. They have only ever passed out goods, and we have accepted their gifts gratefully. I wonder if they know that it pains us to not work for our daily bread. They give and we take and the air is thick with a bitterness. It’s as if they resent us for receiving what they have offered. Isn’t this the system they have created for us to live in? In order to survive we had to take what they had to give. Our dignity is still melting away. Can’t they see we are human just like them? I am clothed daily in my desperation. It is all I have known for countless years. Though I despise it, I cannot seem to escape. 

And now, I’ve finally seen the beautiful face of Hope. She was lost for so long. It seemed Suffering would be my only friend unto my death. But Hope is back, and she has brought Joy with her. She says Peace is on her way, and she has introduced a new friend named Grace. I do not know these friends well yet, and I’m not sure if I can fully trust them, but I welcome them with my entire being. My only wish is that they are here to stay. All I ask of my new friends is that they stay. That they stay and befriend our children. That our children may grow up knowing them. Perhaps these new friends will help our children forget Suffering and Fear. Suffering and Fear have worn us out, maybe these new friends will refresh us.

My name is Nyero. I am an old man now. If you have time I will sit and tell you my story. 

learning to hope

"I look out today, and I don't see the same people I saw 2 months ago." says Mzee Denis, Restore Academy's English and Literature teacher, as he looked into the faces of our students. "I see doctors, lawyers, teachers, politicians, people who will stand next to those in Washington DC. In less than 2 months you people have changed and grown. As you break for the holiday, don't walk away and forget who you are. Remember who you are becoming..." I was moved to tears as he commissioned these young people to believe in themselves.

On June 11, 2007, we started Restore Academy with 3 students and 7 teachers. Our goal was to have 30 students. I bit my lip as I sat with our teachers. I was worried. " We can't have more teachers than students." I said, unsure if I was doing a good job hiding the panic in my voice. I tried to sound encouraging and optimistic. My heart sank as our head teacher, Mr. Peter Okot, showed me the registration list. 11 students registered. We're only 19 students short of our goal, I thought to myself. "The students will come Madame, " Peter assured me, his joyful spirit exuding from his every breath. "When will they come? What more can we do? How can we spread the word?" I pleaded, as I gazed into wide eyes examining me calmly. I imagine they were wondering what they had gotten themselves into. Though Peter had spent weeks hosting community meetings about the new school, I commissioned them to make flyer's, go to villages, go to camps, go to churches...to do whatever they could to get more students in our little school.

Who would blame the community for being hesitant? After all, we were starting a secondary school in the middle of June, a month into the 2nd term of the year. The only building we could find in the same vicinity of our building site for the permanent school was a tiny 3 room unfinished store in some one's front yard. Our 3 classrooms are 1/4 of the size of a normal classroom, with no electricity, and the latrines out back were still being dug. We needed to rent a temporary building close to the community that our student body would ultimately reflect. This little unfinished building, fully equipped with Grandma sitting under the mango tree and chickens everywhere, was the best, well really the only option. And such is the humble beginning of Restore Academy Secondary School in Northern Uganda.

August 18, 2007, I stood before 60 Restore Academy students listening to Denis, Peter and the other teachers tell the students how far they had come in so little time. Our school literally exploded. In less than 1 week after my panicked plea to the teachers, we had 39 kids registered...a couple days later the number of students doubled again. Today we've got 100 students registered. Our student body is made up of former child soldiers, girls left with babies and painful memories of being abducted to be wives of soldiers. All of our students are IDP's, Internally Displaced People, refugees within their own country. All of our students bear burdens they are too young to carry. But their sad stories don't stop them from smiling. These kids walk miles to attend class at Restore Academy, their first hope for education in years. They dare to believe they can pick up where they left off so many years ago. They are learning to learn again.

The vision of Restore Academy is to raise up a new generation of leaders for this country Uganda, for this continent Africa. We will remind them that tribal and religious differences don't matter as much as them respecting each other as brothers and sisters. Unity amongst themselves is of utmost importance. We will remind them to believe not only in themselves as individuals, but in each other as well. We will teach them how to respect, honor, and love themselves and others. Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self control -these are the principles we hope will emanate from our school walls.

To the students I said, "We are here because we believe in you, we believe you can be the types of people God created you to be, no matter what you've done or been through." I meant every word. Though they are the students, I think I am the one being taught. I'm learning how people can overcome anything. I'm learning that given the opportunity people will rise to the level of expectation. I'm learning that teachers may just have the most important job in the world. I'm learning how much believing in someone spurs them on. But I'm most grateful that, thanks to these students, we are learning how to hope.

Click here to see pictures of Restore Academy: http://picasaweb.google.com/ilea65/LearningToHopeRestoreAcademy

On joy and sorrow...

I did not write the following entry, but a friend recently shared it with me, and now I simply want to share it with you. It's from a book called The Prophet. Enjoy...

" Then a woman said, "Speak to us of Joy and Sorrow."
And he answered: Your joy is your sorrow unmasked. And the same well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears. And how else can it be? The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain. Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven? And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives? When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy. When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight. Some of you say, "Joy is greater than sorrow," and others say, "Nay, sorrow is the greater." But I say unto you, they are inseparable. Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed. Verily you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and your joy. Only when you are empty are you at standstill and balanced. When the treasure-keeper lifts you to weigh his gold and his silver, need must your joy or your sorrow rise or fall."

An unlikely friendship.

Whoever said that beauty dwells in the eye of the beholder was genius. Even though it was likely meant to taken in a positive light, I'm learning there may be more to that phrase than I ever realized. Lately, the validity of my own perspective has been consistently challenged. I find it intriguing to watch a man cover his red clay bricks during a sudden rain storm. The ease of his perfection in the way he places the plastic. The determination and pride in his seemingly simple work. Yet to him this could be a matter of his family eating or not. The outcome of this task will determine if his hours of hard work will profit him anything in the end, or if the rain, in which I am enjoying from my balcony with a cup of hot tea, has just robbed him of everything.

Life seems to work in these common contradicting extremes. Something I perceive as inspiring, exists as a determinant between life and death. External simplicity hides the complex reality below the surface. Wealth reflects poverty. A slave works endlessly for a profit never to be grasped. The displaced are trapped within an intoxicating view they can no longer see. War creates an overwhelming ache for peace. And peace incongruously leaves a void for conflict, a release from some built up anger inside. The abused become the abusers. And history relives itself in the present future.

I'm not sure what to do with these thoughts, they leave a lot of unanswered questions. However there is one more contradiction I'm faced with daily. It is the unlikely friendship between Suffering and Joy. They actually do hold hands I think. Not to say that Despair and Hopelessness are not also close friends of Suffering, they certainly are. Despair is as real as Suffering and as powerful as Joy. And Hopelessness is as deadly to life as anything. Yet I’m learning that the smallest seed of Hope can evoke the greatest power of all. Just a shy smile from her and Joy explodes existence. And even when Joy is holding hands with Suffering, I find her beautiful.

justice.

“…restoring justice to children and the poorest of the poor” is the mission of the organization I work for.

Justice isn’t just a good guy vs. bad guy legal term that is determined in a courtroom with lawyers and judges. One dictionary describes justice as “fairness or reasonableness, especially in the way people are treated or decisions are made”.

Sometimes justice means communities are supplied with access to clean water, because nobody should have to die of thirst. Sometimes justice means educating kids and empowering them with them a sense of purpose, because they’ve been witness to countless abuses to humanity and they may not know how much purpose theyhold within themselves. Sometimes justice means taking a young girl out of a bad situation in order to love her, give her a glimpse of hope for her future, and teach her that although the world has abused her, she matters. Her existence is meaningful to the Life of the world. And sometimes it means inspiring a disillusioned power on the bridge of corruption that their contribution to their community and the world is needed. Their wisdom should be shared, and their hard work brings life to those it touches. And sometimes justice means freeing people from the slavery that is still so prevalent in this world we live in.

Kindness, goodness, generosity, love, joy, peace, patience, self-control. The author of a book called Galatians teaches that against such things there is no law. But I'm learning that in most places, there is no law that protects, inspires, or teaches such things. Nonetheless, there is always a place for such things – such things encapsulate justice. And there is always a place for this thing we call justice.

Back to Uganda

I have just returned to Uganda – for those of you I haven't talked to in a long time, I'll be here this time for a year.

I was surprised when I landed. Surprised at how familiar everything looked, sounded…smelled. From the plane, the landscape greeted me with a colorful smile. The earth is deep red, the thick bush, green. The sky – more enormous here than I've ever noticed…blue. The yellow sun magnifies it all. It sounds simple yes, but it's as though when God painted the earth He dropped a bit more paint in this part of the world, and the color is so rich you can't help but stare as you take it all in. As you step off the plane, the air grabs you with its warm stickiness, like an old friend embracing you with a hug.

I starred out the window of my car silently, taken aback at how much peace was in my heart. I really didn't expect it to feel so much like home…home for now at least. As I've mentioned before, I am learning that no place on earth may ever feel 100% like home. However, I know that I am exactly where God wants me now. I don't know long it will be Uganda, but I'm ok with not knowing. Kidogo, kidogo…little by little.

I don't think I've ever made a New Year's Resolution. But I did this year. My resolution – to floss. Don't laugh, I'm serious. But it's a little deeper than my dental hygiene. It denotes attention to detail and purity. On the surface I want to do all the things we Americans want at the beginning of each new year. But more than that, below my shallowness, I hope to take in more of life happening around me. I want to be as aware of each person in my life, more sensitive and compassionate to my neighbors. I want to notice strangers, and look into their eyes. I know I'll never understand it all. And the old cliché rings true…the more you learn, the more you realize you don't know. It turns out though, not understanding might not be as heartbreaking as I once thought. I hope to embrace the challenge of pressing forward, even though I don't understand why things happen, or how some issues could actually be resolved. Even if sometimes it means that I'm walking blindly – holding on to nothing that I know or comprehend. But I hope to keep walking nonetheless.

As I contemplate where I am, compare it to where I was a year ago, and wonder what this year beholds…I pray you are Touched in a new way this year.
May you be full of…brokenness that leads you to joy,
May you be full of…forgiveness that leads you to healing,
May you be full of…humility that leads you to love,
May you be full of…love that leads you to faith,
May you be full of…truth that leads you to laugh because you are free.

And may you never be comfortable because your heart is always being stirred to something increasingly wonderful.

Happy New Year.