Want To Change The World? love your neighbor.

I knew when I came to Africa I would learn many things. I also knew I would walk away from the experience a different person. But I had no idea what those things would be. I guessed I might learn better patience and listening, I would have a clear path in what I want to pursue, or maybe even some radical idea for alleviating global poverty (so naïve of me right?) But what I take away from this experience is worlds away from my initial thought.

We all want to be agents of global change. No one can deny that. Maybe this desire isn’t always conscious, but I believe everyone to the core of who they are wants to change the world, or at least agrees it needs to change. The way we are more often than not told how to do that is by packing our bags and moving to an indigenous people group, landing a position in the Peace Corps, or starting one’s own NGO. There seems to be such a chasm between our desire to see a global change and the options people give us to do so. How discouraging is that? And then for those who can actually attain such a status are put on pedestals and worshiped as idols. Both, completely wrong.

I just can’t believe that is all there is. So I am offering a different perspective (which you may find is actually more difficult), a very real way for you to make a difference in the world. My proposal is this: love your neighbor. Yep. That’s it. Just love your neighbor. And for those of you who ask “Who is my neighbor?”, I’ll answer by saying it’s the people who live next door to you.

If someone were to have said that to me a year ago I would have been disappointed because we all want grandeur adventures and experiences right? Or at least my generation. I would have thought I wouldn’t be living up to my full potential if I were to only love my neighbor. But that just it. our education tells us to “go out” with our knowledge, climb the ladder of success, and not look back to home. I believe we need to focus more energy on giving back to our community with our knowledge.

I have had several discussions with Ugandans who I greatly respect. We talk about poverty, specifically in the US. When I told them how we have a lot of poverty in the states they were astonished. They couldn’t believe America was anything but wealth. They would ask, “so the situation is very bad in your country?” I would tell them yes and then go on to explain the welfare and foster care system, homeless population and places where people who are poor can collect free food and clothing. Upon their initial reaction of being shocked, I was then faced with a dumbfounded, but very profound, question of “well why are you over here?” They’re right. Why do we feel like we need to go to Africa? Don’t get me wrong, I believe there is room for international work, but why aren’t we taking care of the ones at home?

The reason there are wars, genocides, exploitation, school shootings and knife stabbings, car bombings, issues of poverty, homelessness, loneliness (oh and the list goes on), is because we don’t love our neighbor. Stop blaming the government, particular people groups, or coincidence. Jesus really understood our situation when he gave the second greatest commandment to “Love your neighbor as yourself”. Not, go represent your country in peacekeeping. I truly truly believe all it takes is for us to make a difference in the world is to love our neighbors. Call me naïve or ignorant, maybe I am, but I challenge you to take this seriously. Just try it. And I also think there is creativity in how each person does that. It could be by allowing the neighbor kids to each lunch upon occasion, providing Band-Aids to the kids who scrap their knee, giving a ride to work the person whose car just broke down, offering a listening ear through good and bad times, and just opening up one’s home. It’s not difficult? How would you liked to be loved?

My dear dear friend in Uganda once told me, “There are no big tasks in the world, only very small ones.” Don’t be fooled that we need a huge revival and overthrow on the injustice systems in place.  It paralyzes us and then we become stagnant. Be moved by the fact that the world is occupied by broken, lonely people, searching for belonging. And the only remedy is love.

I flew across the globe to realize only small hands can complete large tasks. And only as people learning to love each other within community will life as we know it make a turn for the better.  As Margaret Mead says, “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed people can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.” And only in living in vulnerability with each other opens up the space where this true community can take place.

So go out. Chase your dreams and pursue worthy things. Listen to your heart. But remember that all it takes to make a difference is to love your neighbor as yourself

Uganda has rocked my world in ways I could have never conceived and I am excited to see the projectory to where this experience places me in the future.  Thank you for your prayers and support as I processed my experiences in writing. I hope my eyes to Uganda have been a tool to invite others into my experiences and lessons as well. This is the end of the beginning for me on this journey. And that is exactly what life is: a journey. Often times our path looks different than what we expect, taking twists and turns on unfamiliar paths, and more difficult than we expect, inflicting pain and fear in places we try and hide. I’ve also found sometimes experiences and people in our lives are only meant to be temporary, walking with us for a period of time, and that’s okay. It’s a journey of knowing ourselves, where we came from and how our own worldviews affect how we operate. It’s a journey of calling and the revelation of passion, gifts, and unique talents. But most of all, it’s a journey of transformation in our hearts to be a kind of people that unites beyond differences in order to do good in the world through love.  Thanks for allowing my path to cross with yours. Enjoy the journey. 

Ali

The smell of genocide

I would bargain most people wouldn't know what the smell to associate genocide with. I guess i didn't either until I smelled it. I was able to visit a church, now a memorial site, where 10,000 people were killed in the 1994 Rwandan genocide. They had sought out the church for safety in God's place of worship, but it seems as though God had left in the hours where those 10,000 terrified people were slaughtered. The church is filled with bullet holes, blood stained walls, and all the clothes still laying on the floor from the victims. As soon as I entered I imagined, just as a flashback, of the horror and fear that consumed that room 20 years ago from today. There was a distinct smell in there though, one I hope to never come across again. It literally smelled like a genocide--a place where evil had triumphed. I walked over to alter with still a blood-stained clothe draped over it and wept. I wept the words, "Father forgive us for we do not know what we have done." The brutality  and gruesomeness of the acts committed in that room were absolutely appalling--banging heads against walls, machete chopping, and knife stabbing--but that wasn't what made the floodgates of my soul barricade open. It was because I felt as though a piece of me died with them. I felt like I was a part of them in a strange way. As i've been here in Africa, my view has changed from "them" and "they" to "us" and "we". And although I will never claim to understand the pain of being Rwandan, but I feel as though they are a part of me. And the history of my generations and ancestry killed them. I was over whelmed with grief, sorrow, guilt, anger, and shame.

How do you move on after that? The people of Rwanda killed each other--Hutu and Tutsi. The people who were once neighbors and church member killed each other. How do you forgive someone who killed your whole family? I believe this to be a miracle. Behind the church there were mass graves where over 45,000 people now rest. The graves were open so I walked through thousands and thousands of skulls and femurs--humans reduced to almost the dust of the ground. There were no glass walls, just an enormous amount of eye sockets staring straight into me--able to jump out at me at any moment. I'll never forgot the gaze of those thousands of eyes, it was as if they were whispering, "why?". They torment me. But each one of those skulls  had a mind, that had a body, that had a story. Don't get lost in the number of people, because each person had a dream, a favorite color, a fond memory. The 1 million people who died in the 100 days of the Rwandan genocide were no different than you and I. 

As my emotions and thoughts were racing in 4 dimension ways, my eyes caught glimpse of this particular woman. she was sweeping and cleaning the graves. she stuck out to me not because of what she was doing, but how she was doing it. The way she took care of the graves and this gentleness about her struck me. I thought of how beautiful it was that this Rwandan woman was able to reconcile herself by taking care of those graves and that church. she was the silver lining for me. she represented hope in the midst of wounds and scars as deep as crevasses. she was the only in the church when I was weeping. I felt we had a connection that was not based on words. As we drove away she stood on the edge of the graves and waved at me. It was a different wave than what I was used to. She spoke to me through it, her eyes whispered, "Now you understand." It's like she knew. Because part of did--as much as I could being an outsider. I was processing this experience in my group that night and I spoke about the woman--how her presence really struck me but I didn't know why and I couldn't explain it.  And then the director told us the woman's story and everything made sense. She lost her entire family in the massacre at that church. And for the past 20 years she has been cleaning it and it's graves............

How beautiful is that?! she was making things new, restoring her heart by what she was doing. she was choosing to enter into forgiveness by showing gentleness and love when she would be justified to run from the village and never step foot on those church ground again. I wept. And what I didn't know at the time was that she was just one story of reconciliation. Rwanda is restoring relationships between the perpetrator and survivor to live again as neighbors. The woman whose husband and four children who were brutally murdered right in front of her by her neighbor are now working together and living again in the same community. They deal with immense shame and guilt and struggle with anger and the ability to forgive and love again. It has been 20 years but the wounds are still raw. But hearing there stories as a struggle for restoration is nothing short of a miracle. Why I came to share this experience and enter into a conversation about the Rwandan genocide is because it draws us back to look at our own hearts. We must face that we are not too far off from the same atrocities. They were neighbors remember? Fellow congregation members and co-workers. With the right influence and brainwashing, I believe all of us would be capable of killing. But even more than that, Rwanda teaches us about forgiveness. As I sit and listen to the stories of people forgiving their families killer, I am drawn back into my own heart of the people who have wronged me, hurt me, that I need to forgive. I see how much of a prisoner I am to my perpetrators and how they were weighing my down. And then i think about people I know, people in my own family, who have chained themselves to their perpetrator for decades--and they are still being tormented in their own heart. There is no room for hatred and bitterness in our world. It would seem as though closing the doors to our own heart would protect us, but it really just turns us against each other. As C.S. Lewis says, "The only place where we can be perfectly safe from hurt is heaven and hell." Yes the hurt is real, the pain is real, don't think it is easy for Rwandans to forgive, but anger doesn't co-exist with love. They replace it. So I encourage you, and i'm on this journey too, of letting go and forgiving. We are people carrying around too much baggage and it's weighing us down. We were never created to live like that. Rwanda teaches us that forgiveness is powerful because it's freeing--because as you forgive you realize the prisoner was always you.

Who is "We"?

I have officially completed my final hours in Kisoga at my internship with Compassion International! Praise God! I cannot believe I have spent 440 hours in the rural village of Kisoga—what a journey it has been. I did not really understand how much I had learned from the people there until it was time to say goodbye. I am sure I will discover so much more in the next few months as well. I came into my internship with the expectation that I was going to be doing social work, and I was going to acquire some significant skills to launch me into my career. And while this may be true in time, what I walk away from in my experience doing social work is nothing in the books. It is nothing that can be taught in the classroom. The most significant thing taken away from doing social work is this idea of “we”. At Compassion we are a team, so we refer to ourselves as we. When I am talking with people in the village they refer to us as “we”. This form of “we” is used to encompass a togetherness, a commonality of a group. So compassion is “we”, the people of Kisoga is “we”, and so on. This was very subtle at first but then it started to occur to me that I am outsider in Uganda and they were including me in their discussion of “we”.  Why? There could have been other terms used such as “her” and I could have used “them” or “they”, but no, it was “we”. They found it  fit to bring me to the inside, into their world to understand.

Our team at Compassion engaged in a bible study each morning of the work week and we would pray for various things including family members, Compassion as a whole, and personal issues. We would also pray for the county of Uganda. I admired how people would pray so feverishly for Uganda—how many times have a prayed for the United States? So at our last prayer meeting, I was closing in prayer and I said something along the lines of “Lord, I lift up the country of Uganda to you…” I didn’t think anything of it until the project director approached me later and sat me down to tell me something I will never forget. He said, “Ali, it’s ‘our’ country, not ‘the country of Uganda’.  This is your country too, you are now a part of it.” I was shocked, because I knew he was right. Even though my skin color is different, I don’t speak the native language, and I don’t have nearly the strength of an African woman, I now carry African in me. That is the most beautiful thing about this country is that Ugandans invite others into their life, they allow people to take part in who they are! This is seen in their unbelievable hospitality, encouraging words, and patience in letting outsiders learn their ways of living. They don’t have to do this. It would be easier to just keep visitors “out there”, that’s what the US does right? It takes too much time and effort to let someone be a part of you. This is another thing we need to learn from each other—to open up.

So as I leave Uganda, and prepare for 10 days in Rwanda, I exchange a piece of my heart, and she gives me part of hers. It is precious. No distance can take that away. And that’s the same with the people we have in our life too. Maybe that’s why saying goodbye is so bittersweet. Because we lose a part of ourselves in the exchange for a part of someone else. Uganda has taught me this, and I believe it to be vital in our world as division from race, language, tribes, ethnicity, gender, and social class rule how we live. When we look at the world as “we” and “us” instead of “them” and “they”, we become united people, capable of much more than we presently live.

Out of Anything in the World

I have always known that my international social work placement was different and that my roles are much different here than they would be in the US. But I have to say I never saw this one coming. My knew name around the office is "chicken cutter". Why? Because last week at my internship I killed a chicken. Yep. Stepped on it's feet held its neck and sawed through it with a knife (it was a dull one too). The bishop was coming that day and I was helping out in the kitchen, so of course, we were eating chicken and they had to be killed. So we buy them from the market, kill them, take out the feathers, gut them, cut, boil, and eat! Talk about fresh meat! I know you think that's gross but do you have any idea what is in the chicken you eat?

I tend to ask a lot of questions. For those of you who know me, surprise right? One of the question I have been asking people, is “If you could have dinner with anyone in the world, dead or alive, who would it be?” In my mind, and I have asked this question to many Americans in the past, people start thinking about who their favorite person in history was or who is the most famous person of our time. Answers are typically Jesus, Oprah, or Justin Bieber. So  I asked this question to someone and the response I got was astonishing. So I began asking more people and I was continually astonished, so much that I found it blog worthy.  When I asked the question the first time, his response was his mother. I asked if he had ever met his mother—I thought she has passed away when he was a baby or something! But he laughed and said no, he sees his mother often as she lives in the same town. At this point I was a bit confused as to why he would want to have dinner with his mother. So I asked. And he just smiled again and said that he loves his mother, and would want to have dinner with her over and over again. I just thought, out of all the people in the world, you would want to have dinner with your mother?! It really took me back because I had not expected that. But after I thought about it, it was aligned with this sense of relationships in Uganda. To him, it made no sense to have dinner with someone he hardly knew, and what was he gaining from having dinner with someone who was famous? It made way more sense to him to engage in a relationship that he has already established and poured into, rather than with a stranger. And here I am, an American, always looking outside my situation to do something that is admirable. It would be way cooler to say I’ve had dinner with Oprah than it would be to say with my mother. But not for your average African. Do you think Oprah would remember having dinner with you? Probably not. But would your mother? The person who has given you life, loved you to the point where she would lay down her own life? Absolutely. Africans understand something we don’t. They understand that life is precious. And that each experience and relationship is of value and it matters. Because in the end, we will not be remembered by what we did, but by who we chose to invest in deeply.

Ali

The Important Things

I have never come to a place in my life where I have faced some of my deepest fears. Not fears such as large, death-daring snakes or cars crashing in the river or even public speaking. I have come to the conclusion that I do not fear many things, but for those few that I do, they are forces stronger than gravity itself. Those fears influence every single decision I do or do not make. They are the driving force in almost every action. I carry around with me the fear of commitment to one place, person, or thing, the fear of boredom and complacency, and the fear of missing out. Ever since I was a young girl I remember telling my parents the day I turn 18 is the day I move out of the house. Although, because God is funny like that, I went to college in my home state, it was the only school I applied to in Michigan. I was committed to Philadelphia in my heart, but by God’s provision I stayed in state. Luckily, I was able to spend my summers out west, reliving each summer the excitement of change and new experiences. Being able to work in Colorado and Montana for my summers was my outlet every year. 

The thought of living in Michigan, or the Midwest, has been an idea I have refused to even visit in my mind. God is all about taking his followers to do radical things right? True radical Christians don’t stay in their hometown. Sure, we need doctors and nurses and accountants and teachers, but not for me no. God has called me to radical things. He has called me to international social work and missions. That is what I have always believed and I’m not saying that is not true, God could be calling me to this type of radical thing, but while in Africa I have had to face the question of “what if the most radical thing we can do is love our neighbor?” What if the craziest journey we can be on is to love and pour into our community back home? What if, God is calling me back home? I have been forced to ask and answer these questions because I have been living in a part of the world that does just that. When I look at my African friends and family, I have to conclude that they are not missing out on anything. For most of what I’ve seen, women become housewives and raise their children, families attend church every Sunday and participate in their community simply by being present, and most will never make it out of the country. And there is nothing wrong with that! I believe north American Christianity has been fed a lie about “radical Christianity”. I do believe that we are called to be radical, but our definition of ‘radical’ may just be wrong. We have attributed radical to overseas missions or voluntary poverty. And I’m not saying that God does not call people to that. Jesus is a radical God, and he often calls his followers to places they could have never conceived before. But not everyone is meant to be a Paul and Silas. 

It’s ironic to me that I fly across the world to realize that maybe God is calling me home. Couldn’t I have learned before committing to four months on a different continent?! I have come to value friends and family more than ever before, because after all, what if that is all we have? What if that is the most important thing? I cannot neglect the fact that my grandparents are nearing the end of their life, my parents are growing older, and my sister is closer to marriage than getting behind the wheel of a car for the first time. And here I am running around the world searching for adventures trying to avoid “missing out” when I am missing out on all that is going on at home. I do believe I carry around an adventurous spirit and have a fever for wild, free-spirited, crazy things, but I have come to a place in life where I have had to face the reality that life is short. And life is precious, especially the people in it. It would be foolish of me to ignore that fact. Africa has taught me that each day is a gift and God doesn’t promise us another day. So how would our lives look if we took that seriously? I am just beginning the journey of not taking anything for granted, and trust me, it’s worth it. Because in the end, let me ask you this, how will you be remembered? what you accomplished or traveled to, or whose lives you changed by investing in them?






Ali

Sponsoring A Child

I’ll start by saying I’m bias. After doing my internship with Compassion International (the largest child sponsorship program in the world) in Uganda, I could not be more convinced in the effectiveness it makes. I just cannot get over how much a child’s life changes if he/she is sponsored. I have grown up hearing about Compassion and sponsoring children in general, and it has been easy to pass by children in need—because after all, I didn’t really know them. I believed there were needy children in the world, but I didn’t really think it concerned me—someone else will take care of them right? I have seen hundreds of faces displayed with a packet of information about how to sponsor a child, and I never occurred to me that I should do it. But I’m telling you that now things are different. I feel blessed with the opportunity to have witnessed the other side of servant hood; I am doing ground work here in Uganda literally watching lives be transformed. The oceans between a picture and a human face have been removed—and it has changed me. So as of this past week, I am officially a child sponsor.

                I wrote of him earlier in my posts as he was one of the first children I met because his father does some side work for our offices. I connected with him right away and we instantly became buddies. Every time I see him he comes sprinting towards me with a huge smile yelling, “Ali! Ali! Ali!” I am not a mother, but I understand a glimpse of the joy a child can bring simply wanting to see you. I knew that after interning with Compassion I would not be able to walk away from the experience without sponsoring a child. So I began to pray about sponsorship, and it so happened that Shahibu had been on the waiting list for almost 2 years to become sponsored.  When I found this out I talked to my project director to even see if it would be possible to sponsor him. They were ecstatic.  The month long process of communication with the head office and other officials is over, and I am officially sponsoring someone I know and love.

                I do not write this to guilt anyone into becoming a sponsor, listen to your own convictions and follow them please. But if you or someone you know is on the fence about becoming a sponsor, I am telling you how it changes lives. The way the system in the world is set up write now is tragic, and if a child isn’t sponsored, they have little to no hope of every going to get a college education and giving back to their community.

                Other than that all is well here in Uganda, rainy season has begun and the drought it over (funny how I have never been so thankful for rain before). I have also been training with the volleyball team and have made some great relationships here. Thank you for your ceaseless prayers and devotions to my journey in Uganda.

We do not have to go after crosses,but we have to take up the crosses we have been given all along.

Ali 

The quest for water

One pull of the finger in and there it is: a perfect cylindrical clear stream of the most life-sustaining element on earth: water. These past ten days I have been living in rural Chapchowra, Uganda. It is a beautiful village residing in the foothills of Mt. Elgon bordering Uganda and Kenya.  Running water is for the small wealthy percentage in Uganda, so I have adapted to this lifestyle of not having it. but what I haven’t adapted to is walking long distances to retrieve water on my head. Most people carry the large 20L jerrycans on their head (which I calculated to be 42 pounds), but I can only do a 10L. I would even put myself on the stronger end of the spectrum for females, and there was no way I was getting that thing on my head. And there are women carrying a baby in a sling on their back with a 20L on their head, walking down steep terrain. African women are strong!

The kitchen and the dog

What happens when the well is dry? You see its rainy season here, which means water must be used conservatively because having dry wells is common. This past week I experienced this first hand. After lunch, and after lunch’s dishes, my mom and I always go and fetch water. It is about an 8 minute walk to the nearest well, really not too bad, although these were the foothills, so there is no flat ground. Steep walking up hills is required anywhere you go. So we went to our usual place to retrieve water with our empty jerrycans, and found that the tap was dry. Oh no. my mom doesn’t fret because she knows the other sources; so we pick up our feet and walk another 12 minutes to the next source. Dry.  Okay well this isn’t good, my mom comments. So we must keep trying. We need water. There is no “we can get it later”. We have to cook, do dishes, bathe, and drink. There is no other choice but to keep trying; there is no other option. We trek on another 15 minutes to the next source. Dry. Again. This is a real big problem, my mom explains. Water was here yesterday and the day before as the people who were with us were saying. I don’t understand the local language but I could see on everyone’s faces how tired they were and effect of the problem at hand. We all now travel in a pack with other people who share the same desperation for water as we do. We now had to walk to the furthest source, another 15 minutes away. 

carrying Metoke on my head (African style of course)

making home-made coffee and g-nut sauce

By this time I am tied (from walking all the hills), hot (from the blazing sun), and thirsty( the only reason keeping me going at this point). As we approach our fourth attempt at water, alas, a crowd of people are gathered around the spring all waiting in line with their containers to be filled. After filling, I watched my 10-year old sister sling a 20L on her head and then proceeded to smile watching myself struggle to do the same with my measly 10L. we walked 45 minutes home. As we reached home I just thought what a journey. And as I removed the water from atop of my head and placed it down in the kitchen, I was reminded of the effort it takes me to nudge my finger and get running water at home, which I can assure you I will never take advantage of again.