almost too much.

Perhaps it is because my time here is slowly, yet paradoxically too rapidly, drawing to a close. I am experience a range of humanity and experience that I have never been a part of before. It is not unusual that in a day I have so much anger I could burst, frustration at the people caught in a dysfunctional system, the feeling I could start sobbing at any moment. But then there is something beautiful that happens. The name "mzungu", which is so often an insult or something to laugh at or take advantage of, is used by a child with a smile that could win the whole world, hugging my knees, unknowing of my life, plan, heart, anything. A boda driver gives me a fair price without me begging. There is any small affirmation for why I am here.

In a place like Uganda, it is too easy to be lost in both fear and frustration. So much is different in a place like this, it can be difficult to see the beauty in the bold unfamiliarity. But at times, it can be too easy to see the beautiful and not see the brokenness. Both of which are dangerous.

But it is here tht the discovery of the complexity of life begins. So much can be thought to be discovered in America. Though, it is in the raw reality of Africa, where one can see the obvious effects of war, poverty, and complacency, it is as if the light finally illuminates the obvious.

Humanity is broken. But somehow redeemable.

For every misgiving, there is a kind word waiting to be spoken. For every "baby girl" and kissing noises received, there is a man waiting to help you on your way. For every cripple seen scraping along the busy roadside, there is a boy in the hospital, healing because of someone's mercy and love.

Coming back to America will not be easy. There will be a constant remember of the life that is led here. And not just the life that I have lived here. The life of relative comfort and ease that I have been a part of. But the life of begging, prostitution, even the life of bead-making, all to earn a meager living. Both the joy and pain that lies in this form of simplicity, and the hope that is so often extinguished because of poverty and routine.

There is no easy answer here. To any question. And that is what makes living here and leaving here difficult. Because I want to end the cycle of poverty. I want those children to leave the streets. I want the corruption to end, the bribery and thoughts of supreme superiority.

But redemption takes time. And it takes hard work. And it takes the humbling of oneself and realizing that equality is much more complicated than it has been explained to you. And so much more than that, it takes tings that we are constantly discovering. But it is something that is worth working for. And though the answers seem hidden, even sometimes nonexistent, there must be hope in the Love that was offered for this world. And continues to be offered daily. Wisdom must be out there.

Questions need to be asked. To never stop. But comfort also needs to be found in friends, in hope ...

... in Love.

the strange becomes familiar.

from a few days ago ...

it's a mix between slightly dramatic and almost comical.

it is here in uganda, as i am riding bodas from place to place, laughing and holding hands with these incredible people, that i am distracted by flashes of home. of all the former lives i have known.

i remember sleeping in a comfortable bed in iowa, laughing with friends at college, a fiery conversation with my father. i remember nights on the road, dangling my feet off piers in california, and the times i learned how to breathe and dance in freedom. the hugs that will never leave me.

but as i reflect on this more and more, it is almost a farewell. no, it is a farewell.

because i know when i get back, those things will never be enough for me anymore.

how do i live, now that i know this life? how do i balance the two extremes, holding them both so dear?

the world is opening up to me. gathering me in, using these beautiful people to distract me from a life i thought i was supposed to live. but as much as that nice apartment appeals to me, the clothes that might impress, that phone that i can convince myself is necessary .. that will never be enough.

i am changing. life is changing. the view from here just keeps getting more interesting and complex, with however simple life may be.

none of this really makes any sense, does it? it surely doesn't to me. life just looks very different here, and i am not sure how to merge this life with the life i have known, however conventional or unconventional it has already been.

just decided on four more weeks in uganda. still going to be struggling with these things for a while. which i think is good. really good.

love from the land of red mud and eyes that tell stories.
kristinelaine.

in my dream, the angel shrugged & said, if we fail this time, it will be a failure of imagination & then she placed the world gently in the palm of my hand.
brian andreas (storypeople.com)

three more weeks.

Ah, as expected, Uganda has tightened its hold on me.

I am now to stay until the beginning of November. Which gives me just about three more weeks here.

Well, the adventure is just beginning, now isn't it?

But in all reality, three weeks is a long time. There are things for me to be doing, following up on these stories, meeting with people. But there is also a solid amount of free time. And quite a few ways for me to invest my time. Hmm ...

In other news, we did get stories back. We got some stories back! They are beautiful and fanciful, exactly what I was hoping for. I will be gathering more on Wednesday, and hopefully many more will be coming in the next couple of weeks. I am anticipating that I will be reading them all on my journey back to America, my mind caught in visions of beautiful goats and talking trees.

The other day, I was blessed to go around Kampala and visit what are called Youth Corps homes. There is an organization here that we have partnered closely with, called Cornerstone, who brings children in off of the streets in Kampala, Lira, and Gulu. Cornerstone gives them a place to stay, mentors to look after them, and encourages them to enter school. I was able to meet with the mentors a couple of weeks ago and they agreed to help us out with our project, and now all of the children in these homes are writing stories, which is where I got some of them the other day. But it was such a beautiful thing to go around and see the homes in which these children live, the mentors that have become parents to these children, to see the faces and hold the hands of the writers of these tales. I could go on forever about the ones I met, and about the amazing mentor, Florence,
who has helped guide me around the city and is going to be essential for the project to be followed through with.

I have so many stories I hope to tell you all. I was talking to a friend through chat the other day, and I began to rediscover the fact that stories make the world go around. As cheesy and optimistic as that sounds, I believe it to be true. People need to hear other people's stories, to remember that the world exists outside of themselves, and to realize the humbling fact that the world continues to go around without you there. That there are millions of people, millions of stories, that you will never know. But maybe you should.

That's why I am here.

In light of that, please look here. It is a story of a dear friend, Will Boyd. Without him, I would not be here. And without him, this world would be much less beautiful than it is now.

www.loveisone.org

Oh, life. Oh, Love. Lead me on.

in Love,
kristin.

p.s. If you have a chance, please go here and either read or listen to this speech. Especially the last part on imagination. http://harvardmagazine.com/go/jkrowling.html

jumbled in a pile ..

I love that there is so much going on. It makes me feel alive.

Things are really coming together for this project. Or it seems to be that way. I cannot even begin to explain how relatively easy things have been. How people have been so willing to take this project on, ready for creativity to be opened to students, and excited they are for these stories to be told.

The past few weeks have been a lot of connecting with people, pitching to them the idea, the vision. That part was easy. Now comes the hard(er) part: actually getting the stories. We have people out there who are passing this assignment on to their friends, students, and children. But we have set a deadline for stories to come in by, and now nightmares have overtaken my hopes, and I fear failure in some part of the plan. That people will forget about their promises, students will not be interested, we will be written off.

But as mentioned before, this is the biggest lesson in trust I have possibly ever had. And it is still continuing. I have to trust that these doors have opened for a reason, and it is my time to follow through. To do the best I can do. To remember my place here and fulfill that role.

Ah, I love the adventure.

I am supposed to leave Uganda in ten days time. I am feeling the pressure of getting everything done in time. But not just done, but done beautifully. It will happen, I believe it. It's the adventure I asked for.

There is a community here, a fellowship, that I am certainly going to miss. So much. I am starting to get settled into this way of life. I have told this to several people, and I honestly think it, that it is time for me to either leave or stay. I need to get back to life in America, or I need to stay and be dedicated to life here. I feel, although I can see myself staying for longer here, much longer, that there are things calling me back to America for now. I hope to be back, sooner rather than later. It is hard to say goodbye, too hard, but I think .. I think it is right.

Much thinking and prayer will be going into this next week. I crave your thoughts and prayers, as well. This world is moving, and I am seeing it every single day.

I am feeling this, as well:

he told me one time he forgot himself & his heard opened up like a door with a loose hatch & he tried for days to put it all back in proper order but finally he gave up & left it all jumbled up there in a pile & loved everything equally.
brian andreas, storypeople.com

Love is a journey, and I keep learning more and more about it.

onward,
kristin.