Today I interviewed 22 children living in a home we soon plan to support. This is a pretty standard procedure and I've done it several times before.

I never get used to it.

The interviews took 5 hours--hours filled with stories of brokenness, death, vague recollections of family history, physical ailments, and now and then a glimpse of hope and progress.

This is often how I view Uganda--one step forward, three steps back. I hate to be pessimistic, but when you hear story after repeated story of children being abandoned by their parents, or children who choose to run away in an attempt to escape the pain they leave behind, you can't help but wonder if it will ever get better.

It's days like this I feel overwhelmingly insignificant in my attempt to patch the scars and heartache in Africa.

This precious little angel, Abdul, is 9 years old. His mother died in a motor accident when he was 6 months old and his father was never even in the picture. He grew up with his maternal grandmother who is barely able to care for him, and he now lives in the Bukesa youth corps home HALO will soon support. Little Abdul has a severe hernia, and his home mentors say you can often hear him wailing in the middle of the night from the sheer pain of his condition.

This is only the physical pain. I can't begin to imagine the emotional pain he feels from all of the death, abandonment, and neglect he's experienced. My heart is breaking.

I've made it my first priority to at least soothe Abdul's physical pain. Our health coordinator at Cornerstone is taking him to the hospital tonight and hopefully she'll have full details on what a surgery or treatment will cost. I'll keep you updated.

I had a dream...

Two nights ago I had the most powerful, vivid, and arresting dream--one that I'll never forget.

I'm currently reading the book Palestine: Peace not Apartheid by Jimmy Carter so my experiences in Israel and Jordan are still heavy on my heart.

The Temple Mount in Jerusalem encompasses the holiest site in Judaism. It is the location of two Jewish temples according to the Hebrew Bible and will be the location of the third and final temple. More specifically, the Western Wall, also known as the "Wailing Wall" is thought to be the only original wall remaining and thus a pilgrimage site for Jews who are awaiting the arrival of their messiah.

The Temple Mount is also considered the third holiest Muslim sight in the world. It marks the place where Mohammad ascended into heaven and where the revered prophet Jesus will one day descend to judge the world.

One can only imagine how controversial this site is--as Muslims and Jews are constantly fighting over control.

As I recently visited this site three different times during my time spent in Jerusalem, I can vividly picture it in my mind. I watched as hundreds of Jews took their folded pieces of written prayer and delicately placed them into the cracks in the wall. Only a few meters away, Arab guards held watch over the entrance to the Mosque. I could feel the hostility in my bones and my spirit.

In my dream, a huge Arab family sat next to a huge Jewish family on top of the wall. Along with thousands of other people, there was joyous singing and warm smiles. I don't remember what song, but I can still hear it in my head and see it in heart. Experiencing the reconciliation--if only in a dream--was still a gift I feel blessed to take part in.

I hope I never forget my incredible dream. I hope I retain it as a vision and a hope of what can happen if we pursue truth and reconciliation, forgiveness and love.

I am truly inspired.

The Western Wall, Temple Mount, and Dome of the Rock--the families in my dream were sitting on the wall dangling their feet over the edge.

Prayers left by Jewish mourners.

Maybe I should have majored in History

I have a confession. I used to hate history. I vividly remember taking an American history class my sophomore year in University and claiming that it's ridiculous we are required to learn history. What's done is done, and we should focus on the now or the future instead of the past. Oh dear me, how arrogantly ignorant I must have sounded. I hate to admit how close minded I was, but I am also encouraged to see how much I've grown.

History shapes everything. It allows us to understand why people feel the way they do. It reveals the driving motive of so many actions, and enables us to hold more educated opinions on current issues.

Nothing brings this truth closer to home for me right now than the conflict between Israel and the Palestinian territories. You get a different opinion depending on who you ask and how far back you go in time--which part of history you choose to narrow in on.

Sure, it seems simple enough to say that Israel is building a wall around the Palestinian territories to keep out suicide bombers who are dangerous to everyone.

Sure, I spoke with Israelis who make simple claims that they are willing to give Palestinians the Gaza Strip and the West Bank but Palestinians want more--they want it all--and that's why Israel must defend itself.

However, jump back to 1967 when Israel was yet to become a state. At that time, it was actually Palestinians whose land was taken from them. They claim they are only fighting for the land that was always theirs, that they were pushed from when forced to become refugees.

I spoke with a Palestinian who now lives in Jordan. In so many words, she said she didn't care where the Jewish people lived, that wasn't her business, as long as they didn't live where her family used to. As long as they left the land that belonged to her bloodline. If only it were that simple.

Let's take a complete turn and look at European history and the Holocaust. The displacement of Jews after this atrocious genocide nearly masks the injustice caused to the Palestinians. It makes sense that we wanted to set up a state for Jewish people, a place they could call their own. It also makes sense that it would be on the land that is significant to their history for thousands of years. But it doesn't really make sense that others living there are forced to step aside and just give it up.

I'm simplifying the issue. I'm not trying to make it a history lesson. I'm just trying to show that when I left Israel, I felt I had much more of a grasp on what's going on. But then I went to Jordan where I heard a completely different side of the story.

The mind boggling part is that they are both true. It's not that anyone is deliberately making "their side" up. It's simply that people are focusing on the chunk of history relevant to their emotions and pain and when the issue is as personal as this one, it's so hard to look at the entire picture--a picture that is complicated and messy, hurtful and embarrassing.

I cried for the Jews in Israel. I sat inside the Holocaust museum and just let my heart feel the pain of what happened.

I cried for the Palestinians in Jordan. I sat inside a living room drinking tea with a family and letting my heart feel the pain of their loss.

If it were true that history doesn't matter, that what's done is done, the pain I witnessed wouldn't exist and let me tell you, it surely does.

History becomes tangible when its effects are still rippling today, causing some people to die in the current. Without knowledge of history, there is no understanding, and without understanding, how can there be love?

Reflections on the Middle East

For the first time in my life, I was able to travel to the Middle East. This is a huge deal for me. I've always felt extremely interested in this region of the world for numerous reasons, one of course being the fact that I majored in both political science and religious studies, both hot topics frequently colliding in this particular region. (Okay, who am I kidding--those factors seem to collide everywhere in the world).

Flights were surprisingly cheap from Uganda to Jordan--as in less than half the price of flying to the US--and my mom and I have not been able to travel or spend quality time together in several years. Thus, I concocted a rather brilliant plan if I may say so myself to fly to Jordan, meet my mom in Israel and travel with her, before heading back to Jordan to travel alone.

My time in both Israel and Jordan far exceeded all of my hopes and expectations. I don't use this word often, but it was simply EPIC. I've been thinking of ways to describe the 20 days I was able to travel around and the word that keeps returning to me was balance.

It was a trip of perfect balance.

I was able to spend lots of time with people and be alone. When I was spending time with people, they were people from the countries I was traveling in and elsewhere, including my mom of course.

I was able to sight see all of the typical tourist things, but also experience both countries from a less touristy viewpoint.

I did some relaxing, and I did some strenuous physical activity. More activity than relaxing but that's even better.

And the most important, I was able to see both sides of an intense and ongoing conflict between Israel and Palestine.

I'm finding it difficult to even begin to articulate my thoughts and emotions regarding this experience but I realized that not even trying is robbing myself of the opportunity to share the story, and this particular story I deem crucial to be shared.

So many times I said to myself, I'd love to share this with others, or I'd love to blog about that, but now that I'm back in Uganda, sitting in front of my nice computer at a little coffee shop--and it's even raining might I add--I feel the daunting task of expressing myself creeping in.

I'm going to fight it this time. I more often than not hold back from sharing something I am afraid I'll butcher as it transitions from my head to the keyboard, but the only way to get better is to practice.

Here goes nothing.

2 Year Anniversary

Two years ago today I stepped off the plane and arrived at my new home in Uganda. I can't believe it's been two years...I feel like the time is like water I'm trying to hold in my hands, and it just keeps seeping through. Where did it go?

As a celebration of two years, thought I'd share the journey I've had--with my hair! I buzzed it before moving to Uganda, and therefore as I've grown in this experience, so has my hair. Here's to two years I wouldn't trade for anything!

Today I finally overcame trying to fit the world inside a picture frame.

Thank you, John Mayer, for your insightful lyrics.

Safe Places

One of the art therapy activities we do with children involves this concept of safe places. We have the kids close their eyes and visualize a place, the place which makes them feel the safest. Sometimes it's the home they currently seek refuge in, sometimes it's the village they come from, and often it seems to be some sort of colorful and Seuss-like creation their little minds and hearts concocted on their own.

What is my safe place? I'm not completely sure, there's a lot of places I could visualize that seep peace into my heart. Recently, I've found a safe place in a cemetery near my house. I know, morbid, right? Well those who know me well know I have a special fondness for cemeteries. I find them beautiful, and peaceful. I often find myself seeking out cemeteries in different places I visit. Last summer I fell in love with one particular cemetery in Calcutta, India. Anyway, Uganda seems to lack in cemeteries. People seem to be buried in various places, but there aren't lots of manicured and official lots reserved for the dead to lay in peace.

The one cemetery I have discovered happens to be behind my favorite cathedral in Uganda. It's about a 20 minute walk from my home and the perfect evening stroll always puts me right there. Both the cathedral and the cemetery sit on a monstrous hill providing a glorious view of the chaotic city of Kampala below.

I'm not sure I can articulate it but for some reason, I feel complete security and tranquility when I'm alone in that cemetery. Strolling from tomb to tomb, reading the names of humans who lived on this earth many years ago. Usually there is a tribute: "Founder of education in Uganda," "Archbishop of the Anglican Diocese," and so on.

These people fought for the same thing I'm attempting to--the people of Uganda.

When my world seems to spin out of control here and all the problems of Africa weigh on my heart like a thick and unwanted fog, the tombs of these people of history really put it into perspective. They were part of the same battle, some might have even given their lives to the cause.

And now they're long gone. I'll be long gone too.

Oh, wait. The world doesn't revolve around me. Did I seem to forget? It's not up to me to save Uganda, especially not alone. I'm part of a bigger picture, a picture that's composed of a long history of humans and stories, trials and tribulations, celebrations and progress.

This thought comforts me. It brings me back to earth, and honestly takes off a lot of pressure. I know I'm too hard on myself but the cemetery softens me, and for that reason I'd call it a safe place.




View of the cathedral from my walk...at sunset