Wrestling through life

Some days I wish I could trade the challenges of living in North America for the challenges of being a foreigner overseas. And perhaps someday I will, but for today I remain here and wrestle through what it means to live here after being there.

I sit and I wonder just when it was that those of us in the North American church lost sight of what really matters. When did the service become more about the show than about seeking and knowing, when did the music become more about notes and rhythms than about worship or about really trying to live the words that we sing, and when did being right become more important than dying to self, even if it means burning bridges rather than building them. And I wonder, if those of us inside the church can’t be the stewards of God’s very grace, than who will? If we choose to love only people who love us back, to be generous to only those who have something to offer, than how are we different from anyone else? No one said this would be easy.

I hear the things people argue about and it all just seems petty. When you have met a Mama with empty arms in Rwanda because every single one of her children met the wrong end of machete, and yet here she stands, surviving when maybe she didn’t even want to. And you talk to another Mama who tells you that her two year old asked her if she wants to know what dead people look like, because after 24 short months of life he saw with his own two eyes those blood soaked streets in Rwanda. And then there, right in the middle of the genocide memorial is a life size photo of a child whose last words were “Mommy, where can I run.” Later that week I sit with a group of children and they squeal with wild joy as they play with my hair. So excited they are that they jump up and down and laugh at the strange way my hair feels in their hands. Joy and pain, side by side inside me, and I’m reminded that life is a paradox. Both extremes right there in the same place and I marvel at the thought that I ever saw anything as black and white. 

I sat there in Northern Uganda and saw the aftermath of war and I realized that rehabilitating a child soldier is so much more than I read about in books. It takes more than a gun burning ceremony and a certificate that says “rehabilitated” for these young people to piece their lives back together. Sometimes they choose to return to war and the only life they know, but if they don’t it might take every single day of the rest of their life to fight the battle to rebuild. I remember the ones I met; they had vacant eyes that had had the life sucked right out and I hope that someday the light will return. That their smile will reach their eyes and their joy light up the room.

Without words, people remind me that all these stories are about “those people” “over there.”  But imagine just for a minute, that Mama with empty arms, she could be your sister, because her and you aren’t really so different after all. The little boy who had nowhere to run, he could be your son, wide eyed with wonder and ready to take on the world. And the stories, they are right here beside me too. Someone tells me that the little boy that I once taught in Sunday School here on the frozen Canadian prairies, he survived Rwanda, because his Mom ran through the bush for 3 months straight with him tied to her back. The two of them, were the only survivors in their family. I watch him colour, no different from the other kids, and yet not at all the same. 

And you know what? That little boy, the one who spoke to his Mom of dead people, he is now bent over a desk studying at an Ivy League school. But he does not forget. Because 2 years old is old enough to remember all those things he saw, and he wants to go back to Rwanda so he can make it a better place than the one he remembers as a child. And people like him and his Mama, they inspire me to love when it hurts and when it doesn’t even make sense, and to go out every single day and make the world just a little bit better.  

With eyes wide open

I took my dog out last night.  My mind was busy, and truth be told, as I made the short walk home I was assessing frost heaves in the asphalt. Then for a brief moment I glanced into the skies and saw them. Northern lights. I caught my breath in awe as they danced above me. And I lingered there for some time in silent wonder. Because no matter how many times I see them, they never get old. And as I sat there and watched the heavenly theatrics I wondered how often I walk through life with my eyes down, analyzing faults on the road, when up above me northern lights dance.

Last year when I went camping with my friends, the photographer in the group decided we should stay up until 2 AM so he could get a group shot of us with the starry sky and the Northern Lights above. I have to admit, that at the time, I was tired and cold and I just wanted sleep. But as we made our way out to the beach, I realized why he wanted this shot. Still some soft light on the horizon in the ridiculously long Northern summer daylight, the clear starry sky and Northern Lights above, it was like a little bit of heaven. I won't soon forget that moment or the wonder it beheld. When I was walking with my head down, eyes on my covers, there were others that reminded me to come outside and look up.
 
Right before I went outside last night I was reading a book about the road to Emmaus. About how the disciples walked along heartbroken and defeated because the One they thought had come to rescue them appeared to be dead. They doubted everything their lives had been based upon. They shared all this with the stranger who walked beside them. "There they were, walking with the living Christ, and they had no idea who He was. They were looking past His face and into the abyss that demands proof. They saw His sandals, His hair, His eyes, His robe, but they did not see Him." (Mended, Angie Smith).

I am guilty of much the same. Of racing through life, eyes down, and feeling all alone, when right beside me walks my Saviour. And at times, I do walk with my eyes to the heavens, only to trip and fall on a crack in the road. Instead of getting back up, I stop and focus on what caused me to fall, rather than remembering the lights that dance above.

Last week I went to watch the Watoto Children's Choir. Seeing those kids has special meaning to me, because I've been to Uganda several times, but also because I've been to Watoto. Seeing them in their home context as well as seeing them perform abroad gives me perspective.  As I was watching them sing, there was one little boy, who had shared his story of struggle before coming to Watoto. As he sang the song, his eyes were closed, hands lifted to the heavens, and in that moment, it was only him and Jesus. I didn't want that moment to end because I knew I was witnessing something sacred and because people like him, they know Who walks beside them.

 

All there is to love

I was reminded the other day about how much there is to love in this life. Once a week I volunteer for a couple of hours at the Immigrant Centre, helping in an English class.  This particular day the regular teacher was away and the substitute decided to teach on Canadian seasons. The exercise was to go around the class and ask different people questions. My favourite question to ask the students that day was if they liked winter. Some of them said no obviously, as most of them come from much warmer climates, but the answer of one of the students struck me deep. After the exercise was finished the teacher started telling the class how much she disliked winter. She went on for a few minutes about how the biting cold and the piles of snow made her life miserable, and one students in the class, face filled with surprise, looked her deep in the eyes, and said in broken English, "But teacher, there is so much to love." She went on to explain how she loved taking her children to go sledding, and skating, and playing in the snow. This one, she has traded life in a tropical climate for Canadian extremes and still she finds all there is to love.

You and I? Do we find all there is to love. Do we see the ground beneath us and the heavens above us and give thanks for the earth that surrounds us? For the snow the crunches, the sunshine of spring, and the hope of warmer days ahead?  Or do we look at ourselves and see a life that we hadn't planned on, a life that was supposed to look so much different. Plans that failed, promises broken, tragedy, things beyond our control, loneliness, brokenness, and the list goes on. Because in reality those things are probably present in every single one of our lives. We all have battles to fight. We are all restless and wanting something more. So we can choose, we can choose to either dwell on the biting cold, or look around and see tall there is to love.

That student?  The one that found so much to love in winter? She has left a home she knew to start a life unknown here.  I can bet that starting over in a new culture where she spoke very little English has not been an easy transition. But still, she thrives. She comes to class with a sparkle in her eye, because in the midst of all the mire of everyday life, she finds all there is to love.

Hi Again

Hi everyone,

It seems there is just not enough hours in the day to spend with all these people I have come to love.  How is it that I already leave tomorrow?  Time is too short for those who love that's what Henry Van Dyke said. Oh how that is true.  Every last minute I have been enjoying with these people.  I have been asked by several people when I am going to come back to Uganda forever.  I know I'll be back, but I don't know when or how. Perhaps that is the beauty of it.

I am going to the lake today with some of my friends here.  I just love spending time with these people.  In much the same way I just love spending time with my friends from home. There are some things about home I am looking forward to, and many things I know I will deeply miss here.

One thing that people ask me here is whether or not my parents are still alive.  At first it came as a surprise to me because at home that is not something you would generally ask someone my age.  But here I suppose it is all to common for a lot of people to not have parents.

Remember Wasswa that I sponsor?  The one whose Grandfather is not well.  We stopped and gave them some food the other day and the Eagles Wings social worker stopped in for a visit yesterday and found that the Grandmother had not eaten in 3 days.  A gift received in a timely moment, they are a blessing to me and I won't soon forget them.

Anyway sorry this is so short, I must be going.

Jaimee

Some of the kids from Eagles Wings including Anitah and Wasswa

An Imperfect Offering

Sorry for the lack of updates.  I’ve been so busy, but have been having such a great time.  My friend Rachael and I went to Sipi Falls for the day on Tuesday and it was incredibly beautiful. Rachael is a dear friend to me.  I love her heart, her humour and her beautiful smile. So many days I wish we lived half a street apart instead of half a world apart.  I’m so happy we went.  I’ve been having so much fun hanging out with the youth fellowship here where I’m staying as well. 

 

After the first half of my time here had passed, I had began to think that nothing in Uganda could surprise me.  That I was used to the poverty and the heartbreaking situations that are found around every corner.  But yesterday I realized that was not at all the case.  We stopped to visit one of the little boys I sponsor and my heart was shattered once again. This boy’s teacher had told us he hadn’t been able to attend school in recent days because his aging grandfather was very sick.  Upon arrival at his house, he and his twin sister greeted us and told us about their sick grandfather and invited us in. We entered their humble mud hut and in that moment I was confronted with death in a way that I haven’t ever been before. This grandfather is not long for this world and took great effort to extend his hand from his bed to greet us.  It broke my heart to see this small boy that I love witness his guardian like this.  But I was also reminded that this is reality in much of Uganda, and for that matter much of Africa.  However, this one, he is not just a statistic, he is one that I love. It is so easy to come here and think that all of Uganda needs “fixing.”  But really it doesn’t.  I am the one who needs to be fixed.  All I have to offer is an imperfect offering, me just as I am, and I hope that God can turn that into enough.  These people, this place, they are not a project.  Can I see past all of these differences, past the poverty and right in to who they really are?  To see what makes us the same and also what makes us so very different?  Can I love them without seeing the need to fix?  To offer what I have and to humbly learn from them?  I do hope so. Although I so often feel the weight of humanity on my shoulders, I hope that when I leave the people I’ve met remember that I love them. That I miss them every single day that I’m not here.  We went shopping today to bring this small boy’s family some food.  I know that it won’t make but a small difference, but really what I want is to remind them that I love them with a love that bridges oceans.   

Some days I think I should pull a Katie Davis and get on a plane to Uganda, adopt 13 kids and never look back.  Maybe someday I will. As it gets harder to use my time off to do this work, there are days when I really wonder where I’m meant to be.  But I also love and appreciate the community I’ve built in Canada.  I suppose having such a love affair with both my home country and this beautiful place is a good problem to have. Having two places that feel so much like home can’t be a bad thing can it? Only the Good Lord knows what my future holds.  You and I?  All we can do is wait and see where it is I’ll end up.

 Me and Rachael at Sipi Falls

 Meeting some local children on our hike

 Isn't it breathtaking?

 The third and largest falls

Meeting Jenipher that my small group sponsors from Eagles Wings Children's Village

 Visiting with Wasswa (right) that I sponsor at Eagles Wings.  His twin sister Anitah is on the left.

The Rusty Nail

Today was a special day.  After saying goodbye to my eMi team (the presentation went super well, I’ll write a post on that later), I headed off to a small village in rural Uganda to visit my Compassion International sponsor child.  

 Still trying to figure out what this sign means?

I have met Esther once before, three years ago.  Since she is 20 years old now and will be transitioning out of the Compassion program in the next 1-2 years, I wanted to pay her a visit this time.  It was so very meaningful.  After arriving at the Compassion project in a village called Makindu, Esther arrived to meet me.  She looked so happy and so beautiful. Her and I, we have been writing letters and sharing our hearts with each other for the last 12 years.  We sat and talked for a bit, had breakfast (even though I had already had breakfast).  Although I usually would adore having second breakfast, I knew that we were going to be having a feast in a couple hours at Esther’s house, so I didn’t want to eat too much.  After touring the Compassion project, and finding out that the staff and I knew a mutual person in Jinja (how crazy is that?), we headed off.  The project director announced that Esther wanted to buy me a present.  After I had heard about how she has been putting her meager savings away for a sewing machine (she has been taking tailoring at vocational school) in order to start a small business to support herself, I felt guilty about accepting any type of gift, but knew it would be very offensive to refuse.  We went to the market where she bought me a bolt of African cloth that I can have made into a skirt or anything else I choose to.  It is beautiful material and I feel so privileged to receive such a gift.

While we were looking for a place to buy material, we went down to the “landing stage” where they bring fish in.  It was so very African, and the fact that we were a full hour late, and the project director still wanted to show me around made it even more African.  But I decided not to let the lapse of schedule bother me, and immensely enjoyed walking around and seeing where they bring the fish in to land and then where they are then weighed, sold, and shipped all over Uganda.  Some of those fish are so huge! And I was definitely the only white girl for as far as the eye could see.

 Boats in the water

Boat Construction

 The fish

After the fishy experience, we then travelled on some very sketchy roads to reach Esther’s Aunt and Uncle’s house.  Although she now lives with her brother, she grew up with her Aunt and Uncle and this is the house where I had gone to visit her last time. Her Aunt was so excited to see me and came dancing out of the house and making loud noises to show her joy.  After greeting everyone, we went inside, and to my great surprise, there on the wall hung by a rusty nail was an old Polaroid of me at 17 years of age.  A picture I didn’t even remember sending Esther so many years ago, but faded and worn, there it was.  A rusty nail hangs my picture hangs my picture on the wall of a brick hut in a remote African village. Rusty nails hung Love on a cross. I felt my heart split right open in that moment.  And then I looked across and also hung on the wall was a photo that I had sent to Esther of me with her family the last time I had visited. The kind words her family spoke to me, the depth of meaning of the time I spent with them is something I will not soon forget. I just felt so welcomed and loved right there in the middle of all that. While we were eating lunch, villagers stopped by to catch a glimpse of me, and Esther’s Grandma proudly showed them all several photos of my last visit there (again pictures I had sent).  The project director told me that the whole village knows who I am and thanked me not only for making such a difference in Esther’s life, but also in the lives of all the villagers through her.

Is that actually me?

As I sat down with Esther, she showed me what she had been learning in tailoring school, and then brought out a photo album I had given her the last time I visited. Inside was several letters I had written her over the years. She flipped through the photos and at a photo of me and my Mom looked at me and said “that is your Mom” and then the same with a photo of me and my Dad.  It was a little surreal to be sitting there inside a small brick hut and looking at pictures of me and my friends in Brandon smiling back at me from our camping trip this summer.

If I want to leave you with this.  Don’t ever underestimate the significance of building into someone’s life, whether that is a child in rural Uganda or your next door neighbour. One rusty nail might just change a whole village.

 Esther's Aunt greets me.

 Greeting Esther's Aunt in the house.

 Greeting Esther's Jjaja (Grandma)

 Esther shows me the album I gave her last time I visited.

 Esther's Graduation picture.  Brandon friends- can you identify yourself from our Northern camping trip in the photo I'm holding?

 Looking at Esther's school work.

 I love this girl.

Crunch Time

Hi Everyone.  It’s nearing the end of the project which means crunch time.  I was feeling quite relaxed yesterday morning, the intern and I that are working on the sanitation design were ahead of schedule.  And then we met with the architects to go over the master plan, and suddenly we were back at the beginning.  As far behind as it made me feel, I think it was a good lesson in learning to be flexible and taking things as they come. Of learning to find more to give when I feel like I have nothing left. We talked this morning as a team about offering what we have and I was reminded of a book I read recently that said we are all broken, what matters is what we do with the pieces.

As the nights get later and the mornings get earlier, I can feel myself and the rest of the team getting more tired as the week goes on.  Designing an entire school in a week is really a crazy thing to do, but it is so amazing to see how things always seem to come together at the end.  Since on a project like this at home, everyone on this team would be a separate consulting company, it is so fun to be able to all work around the same table and just yell your questions to the appropriate specialist when you need to know something about say architecture or structural. 

I’ve been having fun designing dual ventilated improved pit latrines and I’m so happy I have an intern to work with and help me out.  Although this time the intern I’m working with is from New Zealand with an accent that is hard to understand, so I’m sure he probably thinks I’m either slow or deaf since I keep asking him to repeat himself.  It’s been an interesting week with all these accents around.  One of the Australians told me I sound funny and I’m still trying to figure out if that was a compliment or not?

I’ve still been having fun taking some time everyday to visit the babies home.  I just love cuddling with those cute little people for a bit everyday.  Yesterday I had 3 of them sitting on my lap and it was so fun.

Today we attended one of the youth gatherings at Amazima. I met one of the staff members who used to work for Compassion International and knows the child I have sponsored here for the last 12 years.  Isn’t that crazy?

Sorry no picture today, the internet is quite slow so those will probably have to wait until we’re back in Kampala with faster internet.