the now but not yet
What should I say? I haven’t written on this thing in a long time, for reasons that will be explained at a later date. A lot has happen in the weeks since I have written, and I’m not even going to try to explain it.
That being said, I’m not sure what to write. I’m not sure who is reading this thing anyway. Probably some people. Thanks for reading it, whoever you are.
I have been thinking about home a lot lately, and missing my family and friends. Being here has made me realize some good things about America, which was not something I expected to learn. I think I needed a good dose of that, as my family would probably tell you. I have also been praying a lot, and reading Compassion by Henri Nouwen. I don’t care who you are, you should read that book.
The thing that has kept me busiest lately is my research. I am carrying out an independent study research project in the area of marriage, fidelity and sexuality among young people in Uganda. It’s complicated, and sometimes discouraging, but very interesting. I have talked with many women and young people about their experiences with relationships. People are broken, and it is hard to see sometimes. Especially in the context of poverty, things like infidelity take an enormous toll on the well-being of individuals and communities. This study has also given me some perspective on how far we’ve come in the US in terms of women’s equality.
Since you are probably wondering, no my health is not great most of the time. I have been sick a lot with various strange illnesses. I guess my house here is not an ideal place to remain healthy. It has been interesting to experience this aspect of poverty. It would just be nearly impossible and conspicuously extravagant (financially) to follow all the health guidelines I have been taught from my youth. So I just get sick. And I guess it’s okay.
About being sick, though it has been unpleasant, I think I have learned a lot about what it means to be poor and have to live where health as a precarious resource. Health is variable and fleeting in my family, and productivity is wholly dependent on one’s ability to labor. Additionally, when one is sick, it is a struggle to get money to go to a doctor. One can count on missing, on average, a day of work every week either due to one’s own illness or the severe illness of another member of the family. And this is without an HIV+ family member. I can only imagine the amount of energy and money consumed caring for a family member with AIDS. The children have accustomed themselves to playing, carrying water and digging while coughing and wheezing, while feverish, while in pain.
The only thing that seems worthy to be written about is the kids in my family. They are the thing that makes my life beautiful. They are the reason I am in Uganda. I’m not sure what that means yet, but I think in time I will learn. I want you to see how they run to hold my hand and yell “Emily wange!” (my Emily), and how we dance, and sing, and wash clothes and carry water. I want them to be part of my life always, and it will be painful to leave them. I don’t want to stop hearing Adriene’s coarse voice, or Chandiru’s laugh, or Nabasirye’s singing. I want them to climb all over me and laugh forever. I want to protect them from the fearful things the future will bring to them: illness, abuse, disappointment, abandonment. I can’t do that. I can’t do anything to “help” them but sit in the dirt with them and show them I love them. They might forget in a few years who that white girl was who lived with them. I might seem like a dream to them. This makes me think about child development, and I have to have faith that my prayers for them and the love I have poured out will somehow carry into the future. Certainly I can trust that God is protecting them, and loves them more than I ever could… but unfortunately, it seems like “God’s love” as manifested through blessings like education, intact families, adequate clothing and nutrition, is just harder to come by here.
In reality, God’s love is manifested always and forever by WHO HE IS—by the fact that He became incarnate, and lives forever as One who is unequivocally on the side of the downtrodden. But how can the incarnation reach meaningfully into the lives of these tiny people? How can that unequivocal support transform the lives of these particular children?
I don’t know. I feel like I’m back at square one in terms of my thinking on poverty—I am overwhelmed sometimes with a base desire to carry them away to my life, as if my life was somehow less impoverished than theirs. The fact is that my life is as ridden with treacherous pitfalls as theirs. Those pitfalls simply have a different shape, cast a different shadow. And I must remember: theirs is the Kingdom. It is precisely these tiny, powerless creatures to whom the Kingdom of God belongs. It is a great mystery.
I simply feel grateful to be among them, to play with them and rest with them. I feel honored that they are my teachers, with their smelly clothes, dripping noses and dirty hands.
That being said, I’m not sure what to write. I’m not sure who is reading this thing anyway. Probably some people. Thanks for reading it, whoever you are.
I have been thinking about home a lot lately, and missing my family and friends. Being here has made me realize some good things about America, which was not something I expected to learn. I think I needed a good dose of that, as my family would probably tell you. I have also been praying a lot, and reading Compassion by Henri Nouwen. I don’t care who you are, you should read that book.
The thing that has kept me busiest lately is my research. I am carrying out an independent study research project in the area of marriage, fidelity and sexuality among young people in Uganda. It’s complicated, and sometimes discouraging, but very interesting. I have talked with many women and young people about their experiences with relationships. People are broken, and it is hard to see sometimes. Especially in the context of poverty, things like infidelity take an enormous toll on the well-being of individuals and communities. This study has also given me some perspective on how far we’ve come in the US in terms of women’s equality.
Since you are probably wondering, no my health is not great most of the time. I have been sick a lot with various strange illnesses. I guess my house here is not an ideal place to remain healthy. It has been interesting to experience this aspect of poverty. It would just be nearly impossible and conspicuously extravagant (financially) to follow all the health guidelines I have been taught from my youth. So I just get sick. And I guess it’s okay.
About being sick, though it has been unpleasant, I think I have learned a lot about what it means to be poor and have to live where health as a precarious resource. Health is variable and fleeting in my family, and productivity is wholly dependent on one’s ability to labor. Additionally, when one is sick, it is a struggle to get money to go to a doctor. One can count on missing, on average, a day of work every week either due to one’s own illness or the severe illness of another member of the family. And this is without an HIV+ family member. I can only imagine the amount of energy and money consumed caring for a family member with AIDS. The children have accustomed themselves to playing, carrying water and digging while coughing and wheezing, while feverish, while in pain.
The only thing that seems worthy to be written about is the kids in my family. They are the thing that makes my life beautiful. They are the reason I am in Uganda. I’m not sure what that means yet, but I think in time I will learn. I want you to see how they run to hold my hand and yell “Emily wange!” (my Emily), and how we dance, and sing, and wash clothes and carry water. I want them to be part of my life always, and it will be painful to leave them. I don’t want to stop hearing Adriene’s coarse voice, or Chandiru’s laugh, or Nabasirye’s singing. I want them to climb all over me and laugh forever. I want to protect them from the fearful things the future will bring to them: illness, abuse, disappointment, abandonment. I can’t do that. I can’t do anything to “help” them but sit in the dirt with them and show them I love them. They might forget in a few years who that white girl was who lived with them. I might seem like a dream to them. This makes me think about child development, and I have to have faith that my prayers for them and the love I have poured out will somehow carry into the future. Certainly I can trust that God is protecting them, and loves them more than I ever could… but unfortunately, it seems like “God’s love” as manifested through blessings like education, intact families, adequate clothing and nutrition, is just harder to come by here.
In reality, God’s love is manifested always and forever by WHO HE IS—by the fact that He became incarnate, and lives forever as One who is unequivocally on the side of the downtrodden. But how can the incarnation reach meaningfully into the lives of these tiny people? How can that unequivocal support transform the lives of these particular children?
I don’t know. I feel like I’m back at square one in terms of my thinking on poverty—I am overwhelmed sometimes with a base desire to carry them away to my life, as if my life was somehow less impoverished than theirs. The fact is that my life is as ridden with treacherous pitfalls as theirs. Those pitfalls simply have a different shape, cast a different shadow. And I must remember: theirs is the Kingdom. It is precisely these tiny, powerless creatures to whom the Kingdom of God belongs. It is a great mystery.
I simply feel grateful to be among them, to play with them and rest with them. I feel honored that they are my teachers, with their smelly clothes, dripping noses and dirty hands.
posted by emily "nalubwama" cool at 3:13 PM
1 Comments:
There are readers following your blog, anxiously awaiting the next post. Those of us wh for whatever reason are not in the field right now. Anxious to here about all that was't reported on in this post. I pray the Blood of Jesus over you. Blessings.
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