Tuesday, June 13, 2017

The Broken and the Beautiful

Somehow I remember it with alarming clarity. Every last detail of my first visit to Northern Uganda in 2011. I remember the way the heat was oppressive in the height of dry season, but even more than that I remember the way the broken edges of all that I saw followed me long after I left. I remember the haunting eyes of young men who were former child soldiers. Something that really can't be described until you look into the depths of such a soul. Eyes that are devoid of life, light sucked right out are something a person can never forget. Walking down the streets of Gulu and seeing empty eyes, bullet and stab wounds and broken souls. It somehow brought me to my knees.

And so it was with those memories I made my way back up to the Northern reaches of this country last week. I hadn't forgotten the fragile hope I saw even among all that was broken. There are some things Joseph Kony can't take away. Fragile hope is somehow sprouting up among the ashes. I saw that fragile hope once again. This time somehow stronger and more firmly rooted than I remember it 6 years ago. I attended a supper with the town chairman who tells us "In 2002, it was the height of insurgency, we slept to the sound of bullets. Children walked kilometers into town from their village to try and avoid abduction. In 2005, the bullets started to silence, and in 2006 we found peace. Some of us, we risked our lives to go find Joseph Kony in the bush, to try and find peace. And now peace is what we have. We want healing, we want restoration. We want to re-build."

These people who are strong and resilient, but somehow still broken, I see in them the ability to rise up above their circumstances. They encourage me to persevere and to do hard things. In meeting them, I find myself inspired; wanting to find courage and endurance, they remind me to keep on running. To dance like nobody is watching.