I sat back and wondered today why I haven't been writing more. Because some way somehow writing seems to set free the deepest thoughts in my heart. But then it also uses my realest emotions, and sometimes writing just leaves me feeling spent. And at a time in my life when just making it through the day seems to sometimes take every ounce of strength that I have. It seems my days are filled with driving through some kind of ordered chaos, trying to figure out how to cook with unfamiliar food, or trying to convince my husband that having a cat is a basic human right, and it seems there is not always reserve for digging into the deepest parts of myself.
Life is settling into some kind of routine here and I like that. Because somehow knowing what the day might look like calms me down in the midst of so much unfamiliar. But then again life is always full of surprises. I can tell you honestly that I love it here. And that doesn't come as a surprise to me. I loved it here long before I ever knew I would one day call this home. I loved the culture, and the people, and Uganda was somehow part of me even before I knew this would be my story. And even still, there are some days that are incredibly hard. There are moments I miss the crispness of winter air, and the crunch of snow beneath my feet in a silent forest full of towering white birch. I miss the wide open prairie skies, the vibrance of canola fields in July, the sound of resisting water as I paddle a canoe, the juicy goodness of a fresh strawberry. There are some days when I feel like I am a failure at this business of living in another culture. Sometimes when I misunderstand or am misunderstood and I want to know what it is I need to do or who I need to be in order to befriend and be loved.
And yet even in and through all this sometimes messy transition and fumbling finding my way, I am reminded about the ways my Ugandan friends have inspired me in the first place. I remember returning to Canada inspired by their joy and their resilience. And I am inspired to find that same resilience in me. The ways these people and this country first inspired me are the very things I need to find in myself. And I will, I know I will. Perhaps not all at once, and perhaps not without making another mistake or two, but I write this as a blessed woman, surrounded by people full of patience and grace. Willing to love me as I am. Sometimes I just need to remind myself of that. In some kind of way perhaps being in a cross cultural marriage does add some unique challenges, but somehow the Good Lord knew, that as I lived in this corner of the earth that the very Ugandan that I married would be exactly what I needed. Some kind of buffer between my Canadian self and the culture I am trying to understand. Someone who would so patiently love me and remind me that I don't need to morph myself into someone I'm not in some kind of feeble attempt to be accepted. Someone to remind me that I can live in Uganda in all my Canadianess, love the people and the culture and be loved in return. And somehow in the middle of it all, the soil on these red dirt roads is causing some kind of lasting change deep within who I am.
Life is settling into some kind of routine here and I like that. Because somehow knowing what the day might look like calms me down in the midst of so much unfamiliar. But then again life is always full of surprises. I can tell you honestly that I love it here. And that doesn't come as a surprise to me. I loved it here long before I ever knew I would one day call this home. I loved the culture, and the people, and Uganda was somehow part of me even before I knew this would be my story. And even still, there are some days that are incredibly hard. There are moments I miss the crispness of winter air, and the crunch of snow beneath my feet in a silent forest full of towering white birch. I miss the wide open prairie skies, the vibrance of canola fields in July, the sound of resisting water as I paddle a canoe, the juicy goodness of a fresh strawberry. There are some days when I feel like I am a failure at this business of living in another culture. Sometimes when I misunderstand or am misunderstood and I want to know what it is I need to do or who I need to be in order to befriend and be loved.
And yet even in and through all this sometimes messy transition and fumbling finding my way, I am reminded about the ways my Ugandan friends have inspired me in the first place. I remember returning to Canada inspired by their joy and their resilience. And I am inspired to find that same resilience in me. The ways these people and this country first inspired me are the very things I need to find in myself. And I will, I know I will. Perhaps not all at once, and perhaps not without making another mistake or two, but I write this as a blessed woman, surrounded by people full of patience and grace. Willing to love me as I am. Sometimes I just need to remind myself of that. In some kind of way perhaps being in a cross cultural marriage does add some unique challenges, but somehow the Good Lord knew, that as I lived in this corner of the earth that the very Ugandan that I married would be exactly what I needed. Some kind of buffer between my Canadian self and the culture I am trying to understand. Someone who would so patiently love me and remind me that I don't need to morph myself into someone I'm not in some kind of feeble attempt to be accepted. Someone to remind me that I can live in Uganda in all my Canadianess, love the people and the culture and be loved in return. And somehow in the middle of it all, the soil on these red dirt roads is causing some kind of lasting change deep within who I am.
 |
| Among the inspired. A family of children I met in rural Uganda. Newly abandoned by their father, dearly loved by their mother, they were very excited about the prospect of attending school at the new facility our team was designing. |
