It was late, I was tired, and then I wondered: what is it that’s so special about this time. (Why is it that these questions come up when I’m trying to sleep?) Someone said that everyone who comes back from studying in Uganda is never quite the same. Maybe that’s true? But no matter where you are for four months you are going to change, right? But I began to wonder what things might I see differently returning to Eastern and picking up life in America again. I pictured myself stopping all the time to look at things. I could see how even the marble floors and carpet at Eastern would look different after living on concrete and mud floors for a couple months. Eastern’s library would be a shock from what I’ve gotten used to. The trees, the whether, the smooth roads, the people, even the language seem like they could all be reasons for me to pause and look. I doubt this would actually last for very long, but none the less, I hope that simple things I took for granted would catch my eye and tell me something new. I don’t know what they would say, probably to keep moving and stop being a weirdo, but maybe not.
I’m sure there are a thousand things I’ll find enthralling and a thousand more that’ll slip by as my mind recalibrates to life as it has always been. But what is so special about being here (in Africa)? I thought that it might not be the novelty of stopping to look at the unnoticed details of everyday life, but the ability to stop at all. Life is so busy no matter where we live. I was busy everyday in Uganda (mostly), and when I wasn’t busy I’d find stuff to do. There were the initial shock factors that seemed to break up my doings because they were novel, like red dirt everywhere or people carrying loads on their heads (especially when they had two free hands), but for the most part I kept busy. There were things that were different here, but I didn’t have any epiphanies about the color of the ground, it was just the way it was. I found it interesting enough to take note of on my walks to school for the first few days because it was new to me, but it soon became normal and unworthy of my attention, overcome by the demands of schoolwork and pressures of adapting to the culture. But what I decided to give up by not bothering to notice something as trivial as dirt was not the wonder of the dirt but the ability to notice it. I was able to stop.
It takes effort and time to notice things like dirt, as silly as it sounds, but it’s true. There are too many things as trivial as dirt that if we were to stop and take note of all of them we’d never get anywhere or do anything. We must overlook the dirt in order to get things done. But when the dirt changes from what we normally consider unspectacular it momentarily takes on that which is worthy of notice. It forces us to stop for something we’ve trained our selves to pass by for the sake of efficiency. Because of its difference we allow ourselves inefficient moments to appreciate what’s new to us. Of course we can’t constantly register something as mundane as dirt so we quickly adapt our sensors to accept it as normal, insignificant, and unworthy to pause for so that we can get back to doing things again. This is how we operate. This is how things get done.
But perhaps what living in Africa has taught me is that there is value in living in a new place. Not because the dirt is a different color or the people act differently, or it is filled with novelty, but because I have learned how much freedom there is when all that is around me asks me to stop. Not for very long, for I still have many things to do, but when efficiency and productivity can be paused for a moment I am free to notice the unspectacular that surrounds me, and watch as it becomes, only for a moment, something truly spectacular. This means that it is not the carpet or marble floors, or the overstocked florescent supermarkets or the seamless highways that will be the wonder, but the true change and true epiphany is when I learn how to stop for the sake of stopping. Perhaps it is the art of pausing that God was excited to show me during my time here. Maybe this was a time where I stopped just enough to realize the freedom in it.
I may continue to discern when to stop and when not to, but may I never loose the freedom to be able to stop. For if this is something God really did want to show me, then it is worthy of all my notice.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
It was late, I was tired, and then I wondered: what is it that’s so special about this time. (Why is it that these questions come up when I’m trying to sleep?) Someone said that everyone who comes back from studying in Uganda is never quite the same. Maybe that’s true? But no matter where you are for four months you are going to change, right? But I began to wonder what things might I see differently returning to Eastern and picking up life in America again. I pictured myself stopping all the time to look at things. I could see how even the marble floors and carpet at Eastern would look different after living on concrete and mud floors for a couple months. Eastern’s library would be a shock from what I’ve gotten used to. The trees, the whether, the smooth roads, the people, even the language seem like they could all be reasons for me to pause and look. I doubt this would actually last for very long, but none the less, I hope that simple things I took for granted would catch my eye and tell me something new. I don’t know what they would say, probably to keep moving and stop being a weirdo, but maybe not.
I’m sure there are a thousand things I’ll find enthralling and a thousand more that’ll slip by as my mind recalibrates to life as it has always been. But what is so special about being here (in Africa)? I thought that it might not be the novelty of stopping to look at the unnoticed details of everyday life, but the ability to stop at all. Life is so busy no matter where we live. I was busy everyday in Uganda (mostly), and when I wasn’t busy I’d find stuff to do. There were the initial shock factors that seemed to break up my doings because they were novel, like red dirt everywhere or people carrying loads on their heads (especially when they had two free hands), but for the most part I kept busy. There were things that were different here, but I didn’t have any epiphanies about the color of the ground, it was just the way it was. I found it interesting enough to take note of on my walks to school for the first few days because it was new to me, but it soon became normal and unworthy of my attention, overcome by the demands of schoolwork and pressures of adapting to the culture. But what I decided to give up by not bothering to notice something as trivial as dirt was not the wonder of the dirt but the ability to notice it. I was able to stop.
It takes effort and time to notice things like dirt, as silly as it sounds, but it’s true. There are too many things as trivial as dirt that if we were to stop and take note of all of them we’d never get anywhere or do anything. We must overlook the dirt in order to get things done. But when the dirt changes from what we normally consider unspectacular it momentarily takes on that which is worthy of notice. It forces us to stop for something we’ve trained our selves to pass by for the sake of efficiency. Because of its difference we allow ourselves inefficient moments to appreciate what’s new to us. Of course we can’t constantly register something as mundane as dirt so we quickly adapt our sensors to accept it as normal, insignificant, and unworthy to pause for so that we can get back to doing things again. This is how we operate. This is how things get done.
But perhaps what living in Africa has taught me is that there is value in living in a new place. Not because the dirt is a different color or the people act differently, or it is filled with novelty, but because I have learned how much freedom there is when all that is around me asks me to stop. Not for very long, for I still have many things to do, but when efficiency and productivity can be paused for a moment I am free to notice the unspectacular that surrounds me, and watch as it becomes, only for a moment, something truly spectacular. This means that it is not the carpet or marble floors, or the overstocked florescent supermarkets or the seamless highways that will be the wonder, but the true change and true epiphany is when I learn how to stop for the sake of stopping. Perhaps it is the art of pausing that God was excited to show me during my time here. Maybe this was a time where I stopped just enough to realize the freedom in it.
I may continue to discern when to stop and when not to, but may I never loose the freedom to be able to stop. For if this is something God really did want to show me, then it is worthy of all my notice.
I’m sure there are a thousand things I’ll find enthralling and a thousand more that’ll slip by as my mind recalibrates to life as it has always been. But what is so special about being here (in Africa)? I thought that it might not be the novelty of stopping to look at the unnoticed details of everyday life, but the ability to stop at all. Life is so busy no matter where we live. I was busy everyday in Uganda (mostly), and when I wasn’t busy I’d find stuff to do. There were the initial shock factors that seemed to break up my doings because they were novel, like red dirt everywhere or people carrying loads on their heads (especially when they had two free hands), but for the most part I kept busy. There were things that were different here, but I didn’t have any epiphanies about the color of the ground, it was just the way it was. I found it interesting enough to take note of on my walks to school for the first few days because it was new to me, but it soon became normal and unworthy of my attention, overcome by the demands of schoolwork and pressures of adapting to the culture. But what I decided to give up by not bothering to notice something as trivial as dirt was not the wonder of the dirt but the ability to notice it. I was able to stop.
It takes effort and time to notice things like dirt, as silly as it sounds, but it’s true. There are too many things as trivial as dirt that if we were to stop and take note of all of them we’d never get anywhere or do anything. We must overlook the dirt in order to get things done. But when the dirt changes from what we normally consider unspectacular it momentarily takes on that which is worthy of notice. It forces us to stop for something we’ve trained our selves to pass by for the sake of efficiency. Because of its difference we allow ourselves inefficient moments to appreciate what’s new to us. Of course we can’t constantly register something as mundane as dirt so we quickly adapt our sensors to accept it as normal, insignificant, and unworthy to pause for so that we can get back to doing things again. This is how we operate. This is how things get done.
But perhaps what living in Africa has taught me is that there is value in living in a new place. Not because the dirt is a different color or the people act differently, or it is filled with novelty, but because I have learned how much freedom there is when all that is around me asks me to stop. Not for very long, for I still have many things to do, but when efficiency and productivity can be paused for a moment I am free to notice the unspectacular that surrounds me, and watch as it becomes, only for a moment, something truly spectacular. This means that it is not the carpet or marble floors, or the overstocked florescent supermarkets or the seamless highways that will be the wonder, but the true change and true epiphany is when I learn how to stop for the sake of stopping. Perhaps it is the art of pausing that God was excited to show me during my time here. Maybe this was a time where I stopped just enough to realize the freedom in it.
I may continue to discern when to stop and when not to, but may I never loose the freedom to be able to stop. For if this is something God really did want to show me, then it is worthy of all my notice.
I laid down for a short power nap, but my mind began churning through what I was going to bring home to my family and friends from my experience in Africa. I saw visions for my house and my family about how solar power and water catchments would do us so much good financially, how the extra work would be good for us physically, and how the reconnection with nature would allow us to spiritually flourish. This all was my nap turning into a dream, but then I turned back to the time I’ve spent here and again wondered how any of this could be translated back to my life back home. I then realized I couldn’t even remember all that I wanted to share, and I’m not even out of Africa yet. I fretted going back with this sense of responsibility to remember what I’d learned and draw on my experiences from Africa to improve things back home. But I was at a loss. I could just see me back home scrambling for words that would do justice to my time here, but none came. I didn’t even know where to begin? The books I’d read seemed okay, but I’ll have other things to read, and even if I do go through them the insights will be different and the meaning changed. How can I capture some of what I felt and saw this semester? How can I give my family and friends or even myself what we want to here about my valuable time here? Perhaps if I had kept a journal of every experience or insight I had, then I’d be set. But I haven’t, and even if I did it’d be too long to serve any purpose.
Thinking about this I realized I was projecting myself into the future; I was already back in America. I still have more than 8 days here, and I’m already thinking about next semester, spring break, and the summer. Do I get a job like a responsible college student to help pay for college? A job on campus would be free room and board and a much simpler life than back home, but I’m away from home. Do I work at home then? Or do I go home just to be with my family whom I haven’t seen in almost a year? How awesome would it be to go back and really be with my family for the first time? Actually practice presence with the ones I love the most. There are so many ideas I have about how to bolster bonding and foster holistic health; it would be a shame to miss all that for a summer at Eastern. I could learn to cook with Oma (grandmother) and talk theology with Opa (grandfather). Africa’s showed me the importance of a good meal and how bonding cooking and eating can be, and I’m becoming a pacifist with many questions about life, so I’m sure a wise and retired military Chaplin might have a few more answers than I. They are still young and spry but are not immortal; to miss these opportunities now would be a shame. I’m still in my youth and have energy to use, I have dreams and visions I don’t want to loose.
But how practical is it to actually “change” anything back home? You’ve tried it before with a good heart and failed, and whatever did change was only temporal. What makes you think things will be different now? But the ideas are so wonderful, practical, and right. They always are, but that’s not how people change. You have nothing to offer apart from your surrender to God. Family activities and customs can be changed or rearranged to fit the ideal we see, but all is worthless apart from Christ. Simple to say, redundant to hear, difficult to flesh out.
These circles are endless and unproductive. My logic may be irrefutable, my plans and dreams may be fresh and revitalizing, and my faith may be more than a mustard seed’s worth, but the wheels just spin faster, the rabbit trials increase exponentially, and the unanswered questions pierce relentlessly. Would I really find what I’m looking for if my family became the solar, water-saving, composting environmentalist hippies of the neighborhood? The sustainably minded, low-fat vegan Brady Bunch may not be the utopia I imagine it to be. Perhaps, then, might I find what I’m looking for in uncritically accepting my family and home the way they are? Would I be satisfied bottling up my visions and dreams in fear of unleashing them naïve of how the world ‘really’ works? The passive, fearful, indifferent and even cynical Davis is not the least bit enticing, though perhaps easier for a time.
Such a dilemma is too much to think about when trying to a nap; so I just gave up thinking about it and found rest in not trying to figure out anything about home. It was then I found what I was looking for (imagine that). It was simple. There was nothing I could say or do here or there that would give me what I wanted (whatever it was; I still don’t exactly know). No reform, insight, words of wisdom, change in lifestyle, or story could fulfill what I desired. As soon as I gave up the search for what I was going to do and say that would make the most of my time here and most benefit those at home and myself, I found joy. Perhaps that’s all I wanted. I expected joy to be found after telling epic stories about rafting the Nile and going on safari, or the adventures of daily life in Africa, or surely about how much I received from living with Ugandans for four months. But all that was secondary and not what life was about. Those kinds of things always make an experience and adventure more interesting, especially when you really tell the stories well and can captivate your audience entirely. But if that’s the ends – and too often it becomes that way – then we have lessened ourselves, our friends and family, and even God into convenient portable tales that make us feel good.
I don’t intend down adventure, stories, and amazing experiences, for if God wasn’t a fan of story telling than why do we have the gospels? I am, however, challenging the expectations that I feel from home (whether real or imagined) and expectations I have put on myself to have something to tell when I get back. So much of who we are and what we believe is based off of that notion we should “have something to tell.” We watch movies about things we deem worthy to be told. Same with books. We listen to the radio, flip through magazines, go on adventures, study abroad, go to Africa and stay in Africa all with some expectation that will hopefully have something to tell. But what are we telling and why is it worthy to be told? It was here I found what I was looking for. So long as I hunt for that which makes a good story, pull only the pictures that people will be interested in, and construct concise and exciting accounts of my four months in Africa, I will have only so much to tell. Even if I beautifully recount my most influential experiences and bring to life the people I met and lived with, my story will only be incomplete. What am I telling people and why am I telling it? My story is not over, that’s why it will feel incomplete. I can’t tell stories that have an end, for they belong to an eternal God.
What do I tell? I tell only what glorifies Him. As soon as I bend the story into myself or others I have nothing more to tell.
Why do I tell it? I tell to glorify Him. There is no greater fulfillment than to tell of Him and Him alone, for both the teller and the told are blessed. As soon as I tell for the sake of my audience or for my own sake I have nothing more to tell. It was here I found what I was looking for and exactly what God intended me to find for some time now. Praise Him!
Thinking about this I realized I was projecting myself into the future; I was already back in America. I still have more than 8 days here, and I’m already thinking about next semester, spring break, and the summer. Do I get a job like a responsible college student to help pay for college? A job on campus would be free room and board and a much simpler life than back home, but I’m away from home. Do I work at home then? Or do I go home just to be with my family whom I haven’t seen in almost a year? How awesome would it be to go back and really be with my family for the first time? Actually practice presence with the ones I love the most. There are so many ideas I have about how to bolster bonding and foster holistic health; it would be a shame to miss all that for a summer at Eastern. I could learn to cook with Oma (grandmother) and talk theology with Opa (grandfather). Africa’s showed me the importance of a good meal and how bonding cooking and eating can be, and I’m becoming a pacifist with many questions about life, so I’m sure a wise and retired military Chaplin might have a few more answers than I. They are still young and spry but are not immortal; to miss these opportunities now would be a shame. I’m still in my youth and have energy to use, I have dreams and visions I don’t want to loose.
But how practical is it to actually “change” anything back home? You’ve tried it before with a good heart and failed, and whatever did change was only temporal. What makes you think things will be different now? But the ideas are so wonderful, practical, and right. They always are, but that’s not how people change. You have nothing to offer apart from your surrender to God. Family activities and customs can be changed or rearranged to fit the ideal we see, but all is worthless apart from Christ. Simple to say, redundant to hear, difficult to flesh out.
These circles are endless and unproductive. My logic may be irrefutable, my plans and dreams may be fresh and revitalizing, and my faith may be more than a mustard seed’s worth, but the wheels just spin faster, the rabbit trials increase exponentially, and the unanswered questions pierce relentlessly. Would I really find what I’m looking for if my family became the solar, water-saving, composting environmentalist hippies of the neighborhood? The sustainably minded, low-fat vegan Brady Bunch may not be the utopia I imagine it to be. Perhaps, then, might I find what I’m looking for in uncritically accepting my family and home the way they are? Would I be satisfied bottling up my visions and dreams in fear of unleashing them naïve of how the world ‘really’ works? The passive, fearful, indifferent and even cynical Davis is not the least bit enticing, though perhaps easier for a time.
Such a dilemma is too much to think about when trying to a nap; so I just gave up thinking about it and found rest in not trying to figure out anything about home. It was then I found what I was looking for (imagine that). It was simple. There was nothing I could say or do here or there that would give me what I wanted (whatever it was; I still don’t exactly know). No reform, insight, words of wisdom, change in lifestyle, or story could fulfill what I desired. As soon as I gave up the search for what I was going to do and say that would make the most of my time here and most benefit those at home and myself, I found joy. Perhaps that’s all I wanted. I expected joy to be found after telling epic stories about rafting the Nile and going on safari, or the adventures of daily life in Africa, or surely about how much I received from living with Ugandans for four months. But all that was secondary and not what life was about. Those kinds of things always make an experience and adventure more interesting, especially when you really tell the stories well and can captivate your audience entirely. But if that’s the ends – and too often it becomes that way – then we have lessened ourselves, our friends and family, and even God into convenient portable tales that make us feel good.
I don’t intend down adventure, stories, and amazing experiences, for if God wasn’t a fan of story telling than why do we have the gospels? I am, however, challenging the expectations that I feel from home (whether real or imagined) and expectations I have put on myself to have something to tell when I get back. So much of who we are and what we believe is based off of that notion we should “have something to tell.” We watch movies about things we deem worthy to be told. Same with books. We listen to the radio, flip through magazines, go on adventures, study abroad, go to Africa and stay in Africa all with some expectation that will hopefully have something to tell. But what are we telling and why is it worthy to be told? It was here I found what I was looking for. So long as I hunt for that which makes a good story, pull only the pictures that people will be interested in, and construct concise and exciting accounts of my four months in Africa, I will have only so much to tell. Even if I beautifully recount my most influential experiences and bring to life the people I met and lived with, my story will only be incomplete. What am I telling people and why am I telling it? My story is not over, that’s why it will feel incomplete. I can’t tell stories that have an end, for they belong to an eternal God.
What do I tell? I tell only what glorifies Him. As soon as I bend the story into myself or others I have nothing more to tell.
Why do I tell it? I tell to glorify Him. There is no greater fulfillment than to tell of Him and Him alone, for both the teller and the told are blessed. As soon as I tell for the sake of my audience or for my own sake I have nothing more to tell. It was here I found what I was looking for and exactly what God intended me to find for some time now. Praise Him!
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
12-23-09
The last post was posted prematurely. I did not end leaving Mukono on the 21st. I did, however, turn in my cell phone, wash basin and mosquito net on the 21st, thinking I was going to be leaving. Oops. Evidently my mom thought that it would be a better idea not to take a public taxi with all my luggage because of the extra hassle and asked Tim (brother) to go find a car that we could rent to drive me up to Luweero. Our estimated time of departure was 12pm. Tim was sleeping, waiting for mom to get back from town at 11:55am, and had yet to look for a car yet. At around 1:30 he set out to get the vehicle. We had lunch… at 4:15pm… and still no car. My mom said that the car Tim was waiting for was running late and that the guy kept saying he’d bring in 30min. Tim waited for him till evening and gave up around 7:45pm. So I slept with no mosquito net and a sheet for the night; one of the most restful night so far (surprisingly).
During the extra time I got to spend some precious moments with Subie and Dianna (4 year old). I tried to entertain them while working on my computer to no avail, so I packed everything up and pulled out my Compassion book. I read about the importance of displacement, solidarity, humility, and the move away from anxiety, but couldn’t focus on the spiritual goodness God wanted for me because these two pests were climbing all over me, sticking their feet in my mouth and occasionally sucking on my toes (I was not clean!). I had already kid proofed the room (so I thought) and somehow they’d still find things to break or throw. I looked up to Dianna shoving things into the outlet and seeing what would happen if she plugged in both ends of my laptop charger to the same socket. Subie thought it a good idea to shove her finger into Dianna’s rectum and see what great reactions she could get from me when she lunged to stick it in my mouth. I was sitting here trying to rest from a long stressful day of not knowing when or if I’d be able to get to Luweero (or even to the airport), and these menaces were stomping all over the time I wanted to spend alone in my room. I’d tried to compromise by reading instead of working on the computer, but I was helpless against their devices.
It was here that I realized how silly this all was. I was growing more anxious and grouchy every second I tried to tolerate them while doing the things I wanted to do. So I gave up, gave in, and (after washing Subie’s finger) wrestled around with them the rest of the night. I actually found that by placing both of them under my legs I could wrestle them with my lower half and actually read a few sentences every now and then.
The next day we ended up hiring a private hire to take us to Kampala after finding out that Shawn (the New Hope guy I’m staying with now) was in Kampala and could pick me up there. At 9:30am I told Shawn we’d be there around 12am, thinking that if we left immediately for the 45min drive we’d get there in less than 2 ½ hrs. The private hire was at our house, and I was ready to go. But we couldn’t leave without taking tea. So we waited for water to boil and the bread to be bought, sat around and chatted for an hour or so. During that time we were able to exchange Christmas gifts. She got my family and me a … (it’s a surprise). I was able to run out the day prior and purchase a “rocket stove” for her and the family. It was a very well made portable stove that is extremely fuel efficient/ environmentally friendly and produces little to no smoke. We had a great time posing the exchange for the camera at least five or six times: “Hold the present higher… now turn your heads more this way… tilt it more this way… okay… um… oh, the camera’s off… again!”
We did end up making it out of there by 11am, only after my mom insisted we turn the car around to get one last picture of all of us in front of the house. We made it to Kampala in time and I made it to New Hope finally; a two hour (or two day) drive from Mukono.
New Hope is a children’s learning center (like an orphanage) that has different programs and institutions in a few other areas in Uganda. Shawn and Courtney Zimmerman are the couple that have agreed to host my for till the 6th and have me along for their Christmas celebration. Their a young couple (around 30 years old) with three children: Ava (4), Tai (2), and their newest addition A.J. (around five months). Ava and A.J. are adopted Ugandans, A.J.’s birthday and upbringing are unknown, and Tai is their biological son. Shawn co-manages New Hope’s farm with a local Ugandan and hopes to one day grow enough food to sustainably support New Hope’s demands. He has made a lot of progress since he came here two years ago but there is so much more to do if anything is to be sustainable one day. Finances are already dry and the vision of a sustainable farm is not the priority of foreign investors/supporters. Shawn has described how burnout is a problem with New Hope personnel and I’ve gathered that Shawn, within only two years of being here, is struggling to keep his zeal fresh and is getting caught in disparity from lack of funds, donator interest, and resources to build the farm into what it should be.
He expressed his excitement to have me visiting and was glad to hear any ideas, suggestions or visions I had about New Hope, the farm, or anything. After our first conversation I was stoked to have been given this opportunity to spend with Shawn and his family, humbled that he was interested in my thoughts, and excited about what was already churning in my heart. I’ve learned about the importance of agriculture, the humanness of working the land, how localized communities with a deep understanding and appreciation of place are the only vehicle of hope for the restoration of creation, and how integral it is to instruct our children about the proper relationship man is to have with the land and one another. I can’t help but see how a children’s home like New Hope could be a beacon of sorts to how education can and should be tied to the importance of rootedness, belonging, and community through appropriate and sustainable land practices. This semester has brought up many questions about our traditional sanction of western education and the goodness of amassing information. Information and a western education enables one to operate (if you’re lucky) within a cosmos that’s economic paradigm is based upon fallible assumptions of infinite capital. What good is that?, especially when you’re learning these things in a context that is nearly completely irrelevant. More than 80% of Ugandans are dependent upon subsistence agriculture, yet I doubt the ratio of students learning sustainable land techniques and appropriate technologies at an institutional level, let alone a domestic level, is above 10% of Uganda’s population. What if education was regionally relevant to the extent that a child might graduate knowing how to maintain and build top soil, boost soil fertility and water retention, and sustainably cultivate the same land (or similar land) he did his studies on. He wouldn’t know a lick of English or where to find the USA on a map, but he’d be able to explain the weather patterns, soil acidity, crop yields, and biodiversity of his lands…
Sorry for the tangent, but my excitement stems from discontent with a fallible paradigm that promises salvation by completely enslaving us to the momentum of upward mobility, displacing us from creation, God, and each other. There is another vision that transcends the uprooted nature of information, capital, and ourselves, a vision so transcendent that it stoops to the lowest level imaginable and roots into a single place with no intention of leaving, tapping into even the deepest pains and burdens of his new dwelling and entering into truly compassionate solidarity in order to truly be. Man’s existence is found in the incarnation of Christ burrowing down into our world and rooting into the father; the father of peace, stillness, content, joy, and unshakable love. The narrow way does not rush anxiously into some other direction searching for truth in some distant land or within some distant community, rather, it gives in and sinks into the ground it’s been given; it humbly roots into the eternal rock beneath him, there for his ancestors and before; there since the beginning. Rootedness, belonging, and place (not space) is what we long for. It is the only place we find consistent meaning for ourselves and our relationship to our brothers and sisters and the creation.
I’ve no idea if anything above made sense, but it was helpful for me. This is an attempt to articulate the flood of exciting thoughts that have been whirling around in my head for the past few months. I am truly enjoying dreaming about some of the great things that God has for us to partake in. It’s romantic. It’s supposed to be. I know how much I want to make a major change; how I want to see the miraculous happen; how I would love to die feeling the sense of great accomplishment and even legacy. Such silly sinful pride. Longing for legacy leads only to meaningless anxiety and inevitable disappointment, but true content is buried in the present moment; being grateful for the now, hopeful for what’s to come, waiting in wondrous expectation, and humbled in joyful servitude. God’s grace is for us to put on now, and the future is His alone. Only he can prepare the path before us, and no plan, worry, hope, dream, or vision built upon our selves will stand in the righteous presence of God’s future. This vision I’ve received is wondrous, marvelous, exciting, romantic, idealistic, foolish, and unpractical, and so far, not too different than the craziness that God pulled out on the cross. My faith shall thus remain in Him, rejoice in His work despite my efforts, dreams, or vision, and fully trust that His hand is mightier than I’ll ever know. This vision come to pass or not, it matters not for I’m content; content in the assurance that God has already won, his kingdom is already come, and the greatest vision already done. Amen.
(Thanks for reading my ramble/reflection. Comments are welcomed, encouraged, and lawfully enforced. If you have read this your are obligated under the jurisdiction of BlogSpot to post a comment here, on my Facebook, or send me an email. If not, I’ll be sad [but content]. I love you all!)
The last post was posted prematurely. I did not end leaving Mukono on the 21st. I did, however, turn in my cell phone, wash basin and mosquito net on the 21st, thinking I was going to be leaving. Oops. Evidently my mom thought that it would be a better idea not to take a public taxi with all my luggage because of the extra hassle and asked Tim (brother) to go find a car that we could rent to drive me up to Luweero. Our estimated time of departure was 12pm. Tim was sleeping, waiting for mom to get back from town at 11:55am, and had yet to look for a car yet. At around 1:30 he set out to get the vehicle. We had lunch… at 4:15pm… and still no car. My mom said that the car Tim was waiting for was running late and that the guy kept saying he’d bring in 30min. Tim waited for him till evening and gave up around 7:45pm. So I slept with no mosquito net and a sheet for the night; one of the most restful night so far (surprisingly).
During the extra time I got to spend some precious moments with Subie and Dianna (4 year old). I tried to entertain them while working on my computer to no avail, so I packed everything up and pulled out my Compassion book. I read about the importance of displacement, solidarity, humility, and the move away from anxiety, but couldn’t focus on the spiritual goodness God wanted for me because these two pests were climbing all over me, sticking their feet in my mouth and occasionally sucking on my toes (I was not clean!). I had already kid proofed the room (so I thought) and somehow they’d still find things to break or throw. I looked up to Dianna shoving things into the outlet and seeing what would happen if she plugged in both ends of my laptop charger to the same socket. Subie thought it a good idea to shove her finger into Dianna’s rectum and see what great reactions she could get from me when she lunged to stick it in my mouth. I was sitting here trying to rest from a long stressful day of not knowing when or if I’d be able to get to Luweero (or even to the airport), and these menaces were stomping all over the time I wanted to spend alone in my room. I’d tried to compromise by reading instead of working on the computer, but I was helpless against their devices.
It was here that I realized how silly this all was. I was growing more anxious and grouchy every second I tried to tolerate them while doing the things I wanted to do. So I gave up, gave in, and (after washing Subie’s finger) wrestled around with them the rest of the night. I actually found that by placing both of them under my legs I could wrestle them with my lower half and actually read a few sentences every now and then.
The next day we ended up hiring a private hire to take us to Kampala after finding out that Shawn (the New Hope guy I’m staying with now) was in Kampala and could pick me up there. At 9:30am I told Shawn we’d be there around 12am, thinking that if we left immediately for the 45min drive we’d get there in less than 2 ½ hrs. The private hire was at our house, and I was ready to go. But we couldn’t leave without taking tea. So we waited for water to boil and the bread to be bought, sat around and chatted for an hour or so. During that time we were able to exchange Christmas gifts. She got my family and me a … (it’s a surprise). I was able to run out the day prior and purchase a “rocket stove” for her and the family. It was a very well made portable stove that is extremely fuel efficient/ environmentally friendly and produces little to no smoke. We had a great time posing the exchange for the camera at least five or six times: “Hold the present higher… now turn your heads more this way… tilt it more this way… okay… um… oh, the camera’s off… again!”
We did end up making it out of there by 11am, only after my mom insisted we turn the car around to get one last picture of all of us in front of the house. We made it to Kampala in time and I made it to New Hope finally; a two hour (or two day) drive from Mukono.
New Hope is a children’s learning center (like an orphanage) that has different programs and institutions in a few other areas in Uganda. Shawn and Courtney Zimmerman are the couple that have agreed to host my for till the 6th and have me along for their Christmas celebration. Their a young couple (around 30 years old) with three children: Ava (4), Tai (2), and their newest addition A.J. (around five months). Ava and A.J. are adopted Ugandans, A.J.’s birthday and upbringing are unknown, and Tai is their biological son. Shawn co-manages New Hope’s farm with a local Ugandan and hopes to one day grow enough food to sustainably support New Hope’s demands. He has made a lot of progress since he came here two years ago but there is so much more to do if anything is to be sustainable one day. Finances are already dry and the vision of a sustainable farm is not the priority of foreign investors/supporters. Shawn has described how burnout is a problem with New Hope personnel and I’ve gathered that Shawn, within only two years of being here, is struggling to keep his zeal fresh and is getting caught in disparity from lack of funds, donator interest, and resources to build the farm into what it should be.
He expressed his excitement to have me visiting and was glad to hear any ideas, suggestions or visions I had about New Hope, the farm, or anything. After our first conversation I was stoked to have been given this opportunity to spend with Shawn and his family, humbled that he was interested in my thoughts, and excited about what was already churning in my heart. I’ve learned about the importance of agriculture, the humanness of working the land, how localized communities with a deep understanding and appreciation of place are the only vehicle of hope for the restoration of creation, and how integral it is to instruct our children about the proper relationship man is to have with the land and one another. I can’t help but see how a children’s home like New Hope could be a beacon of sorts to how education can and should be tied to the importance of rootedness, belonging, and community through appropriate and sustainable land practices. This semester has brought up many questions about our traditional sanction of western education and the goodness of amassing information. Information and a western education enables one to operate (if you’re lucky) within a cosmos that’s economic paradigm is based upon fallible assumptions of infinite capital. What good is that?, especially when you’re learning these things in a context that is nearly completely irrelevant. More than 80% of Ugandans are dependent upon subsistence agriculture, yet I doubt the ratio of students learning sustainable land techniques and appropriate technologies at an institutional level, let alone a domestic level, is above 10% of Uganda’s population. What if education was regionally relevant to the extent that a child might graduate knowing how to maintain and build top soil, boost soil fertility and water retention, and sustainably cultivate the same land (or similar land) he did his studies on. He wouldn’t know a lick of English or where to find the USA on a map, but he’d be able to explain the weather patterns, soil acidity, crop yields, and biodiversity of his lands…
Sorry for the tangent, but my excitement stems from discontent with a fallible paradigm that promises salvation by completely enslaving us to the momentum of upward mobility, displacing us from creation, God, and each other. There is another vision that transcends the uprooted nature of information, capital, and ourselves, a vision so transcendent that it stoops to the lowest level imaginable and roots into a single place with no intention of leaving, tapping into even the deepest pains and burdens of his new dwelling and entering into truly compassionate solidarity in order to truly be. Man’s existence is found in the incarnation of Christ burrowing down into our world and rooting into the father; the father of peace, stillness, content, joy, and unshakable love. The narrow way does not rush anxiously into some other direction searching for truth in some distant land or within some distant community, rather, it gives in and sinks into the ground it’s been given; it humbly roots into the eternal rock beneath him, there for his ancestors and before; there since the beginning. Rootedness, belonging, and place (not space) is what we long for. It is the only place we find consistent meaning for ourselves and our relationship to our brothers and sisters and the creation.
I’ve no idea if anything above made sense, but it was helpful for me. This is an attempt to articulate the flood of exciting thoughts that have been whirling around in my head for the past few months. I am truly enjoying dreaming about some of the great things that God has for us to partake in. It’s romantic. It’s supposed to be. I know how much I want to make a major change; how I want to see the miraculous happen; how I would love to die feeling the sense of great accomplishment and even legacy. Such silly sinful pride. Longing for legacy leads only to meaningless anxiety and inevitable disappointment, but true content is buried in the present moment; being grateful for the now, hopeful for what’s to come, waiting in wondrous expectation, and humbled in joyful servitude. God’s grace is for us to put on now, and the future is His alone. Only he can prepare the path before us, and no plan, worry, hope, dream, or vision built upon our selves will stand in the righteous presence of God’s future. This vision I’ve received is wondrous, marvelous, exciting, romantic, idealistic, foolish, and unpractical, and so far, not too different than the craziness that God pulled out on the cross. My faith shall thus remain in Him, rejoice in His work despite my efforts, dreams, or vision, and fully trust that His hand is mightier than I’ll ever know. This vision come to pass or not, it matters not for I’m content; content in the assurance that God has already won, his kingdom is already come, and the greatest vision already done. Amen.
(Thanks for reading my ramble/reflection. Comments are welcomed, encouraged, and lawfully enforced. If you have read this your are obligated under the jurisdiction of BlogSpot to post a comment here, on my Facebook, or send me an email. If not, I’ll be sad [but content]. I love you all!)
Monday, December 21, 2009
12-20-09
I’m leaving Mukono and my host family tomorrow. I’ve spent about four months with them, and I don’t know how exactly to begin processing this goodbye. I’m packing my room into the suitcases I came with and somewhat pleased with the lack of extra stuff I have. I’ve gained and lost a few things, but having extra room helps the tourist inside me that still wants to be a pilgrim.
I’ve noticed though that over the past week or so I’ve gotten fed up a few times with some of the demands that are starting to pop up. I’ll get requests (more like pleas) for me to gift different people in the family with certain gifts. One sister has made it clear what exactly she wants: snaps of her and a torch. She’s approached me multiple times and made reference to it as a child begging for some sweets. Another sister was even rude about it. After calling me lazy when I was doing my laundry (all morning) – possibly a legit critique or simple jest – she proceeded to demand snaps of her. It reminded me of a bratty child that didn’t really care about me or what it would take to get her pictures; she just wanted them and mentally burdened the only mzungu with that responsibility. It was my duty to provide her with pictures, after all, I had a camera like the other (wedding) photographers and I am white and apart of the family, surely if anyone could get her some free snaps it would be me. Perhaps these kinds of requests have only popped up recently because I’m leaving, or because I’ve stayed around long enough for them to feel more comfortable asking for things.
None the less, as these little bumps seem to get bigger or more annoying, I’ve noticed its affect on my attitude. I’ve lost care for them and burden them with anything and everything that goes missing of mine. My room has more and more become public property (something I’m ideally not opposed to, and have personally advocated before) for all who want to come and peruse my mzungu novelties and foreign gadgets and take or play with what they see as interesting. No doubt this is giving me a different angle on communal possessions, but when there is the lack of respect and I become the mzungu toy box exploitation, not community, seems to better define the core of our interaction. So when any thing goes missing or gets broken I immediately begin to mentally accuse whoever I think would be responsible, or just hold everybody responsible because even if they didn’t do it there’s no doubt they would.
So after blowing off my ethnocentric steam I began to see how I may be experiencing more culture shock now than I have all semester. I find more solace in my computer than anywhere else because my precious expat community has vanished and I’ve, for the first time, begun to carry the burden of living in Ugandan culture. My weaknesses are becoming more evident and even exacerbated by the shift in context and I can see more than ever the dynamics of true cross cultural experiences. If a week is all the total immersion of Ugandan culture I’ll get during my four months here, praise God that I’ve had this week to shake me up a bit. (I say this because during the semester I had eight hours of mzungu community every day and at New Hope Uganda I’m expecting something comparable).
A few more things: there is a four year old girl that has stayed with us for the past three weeks named Subi. This was the same Subi I made friends with at the begging of the semester (don’t know if I wrote anything about that), and we’re just as good of friends now. Actually, were a bit closer. She entertains herself for hours climbing on my lap while I’m working at my desk and throwing all sorts of fun things she finds on my laptop to see what gets the most rise out of me. As fun as these little shenanigans can be, they do get old surprisingly fast. Her adorableness dissipated quickly when she saw that open water bottles caused the most excitement, and soon, despite all my desires to not be the grumpy mzungu recluse, I locked her out of the room. The calm of the room after she left was pleasant, but challenging. I could easily lock myself up in this room for the entire week I’m here, coming out for food, baths, and the wedding ceremonies, but never really leaving my room. This peace was a nice change, but too comfortable and too appealing. It cradled me like an empty promise that looks really nice but quickly tarnishes and crumbles into dust. Secluding from the culture never seemed to be a temptation for me, but I realized here that this was not too far from what I wanted. Luckily I got out, did some laundry, got called lazy, and filmed a wedding introduction and wedding for my family.
There are a thousand others things to write, but not now. Thanks for reading and for praying for me in my final few weeks in Uganda. Peace, -Davis
I’m leaving Mukono and my host family tomorrow. I’ve spent about four months with them, and I don’t know how exactly to begin processing this goodbye. I’m packing my room into the suitcases I came with and somewhat pleased with the lack of extra stuff I have. I’ve gained and lost a few things, but having extra room helps the tourist inside me that still wants to be a pilgrim.
I’ve noticed though that over the past week or so I’ve gotten fed up a few times with some of the demands that are starting to pop up. I’ll get requests (more like pleas) for me to gift different people in the family with certain gifts. One sister has made it clear what exactly she wants: snaps of her and a torch. She’s approached me multiple times and made reference to it as a child begging for some sweets. Another sister was even rude about it. After calling me lazy when I was doing my laundry (all morning) – possibly a legit critique or simple jest – she proceeded to demand snaps of her. It reminded me of a bratty child that didn’t really care about me or what it would take to get her pictures; she just wanted them and mentally burdened the only mzungu with that responsibility. It was my duty to provide her with pictures, after all, I had a camera like the other (wedding) photographers and I am white and apart of the family, surely if anyone could get her some free snaps it would be me. Perhaps these kinds of requests have only popped up recently because I’m leaving, or because I’ve stayed around long enough for them to feel more comfortable asking for things.
None the less, as these little bumps seem to get bigger or more annoying, I’ve noticed its affect on my attitude. I’ve lost care for them and burden them with anything and everything that goes missing of mine. My room has more and more become public property (something I’m ideally not opposed to, and have personally advocated before) for all who want to come and peruse my mzungu novelties and foreign gadgets and take or play with what they see as interesting. No doubt this is giving me a different angle on communal possessions, but when there is the lack of respect and I become the mzungu toy box exploitation, not community, seems to better define the core of our interaction. So when any thing goes missing or gets broken I immediately begin to mentally accuse whoever I think would be responsible, or just hold everybody responsible because even if they didn’t do it there’s no doubt they would.
So after blowing off my ethnocentric steam I began to see how I may be experiencing more culture shock now than I have all semester. I find more solace in my computer than anywhere else because my precious expat community has vanished and I’ve, for the first time, begun to carry the burden of living in Ugandan culture. My weaknesses are becoming more evident and even exacerbated by the shift in context and I can see more than ever the dynamics of true cross cultural experiences. If a week is all the total immersion of Ugandan culture I’ll get during my four months here, praise God that I’ve had this week to shake me up a bit. (I say this because during the semester I had eight hours of mzungu community every day and at New Hope Uganda I’m expecting something comparable).
A few more things: there is a four year old girl that has stayed with us for the past three weeks named Subi. This was the same Subi I made friends with at the begging of the semester (don’t know if I wrote anything about that), and we’re just as good of friends now. Actually, were a bit closer. She entertains herself for hours climbing on my lap while I’m working at my desk and throwing all sorts of fun things she finds on my laptop to see what gets the most rise out of me. As fun as these little shenanigans can be, they do get old surprisingly fast. Her adorableness dissipated quickly when she saw that open water bottles caused the most excitement, and soon, despite all my desires to not be the grumpy mzungu recluse, I locked her out of the room. The calm of the room after she left was pleasant, but challenging. I could easily lock myself up in this room for the entire week I’m here, coming out for food, baths, and the wedding ceremonies, but never really leaving my room. This peace was a nice change, but too comfortable and too appealing. It cradled me like an empty promise that looks really nice but quickly tarnishes and crumbles into dust. Secluding from the culture never seemed to be a temptation for me, but I realized here that this was not too far from what I wanted. Luckily I got out, did some laundry, got called lazy, and filmed a wedding introduction and wedding for my family.
There are a thousand others things to write, but not now. Thanks for reading and for praying for me in my final few weeks in Uganda. Peace, -Davis
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