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.