one

I've forgotten how to write. I've forgotten how to sing. I've forgotten how to even get near a guitar. I've forgotten what I love, and because of this, I've forgotten who I am.

"How did I get here?"

I was blind sided when I asked myself this question this afternoon.

"How did I get here?"

Or more appropriately, "how did I get back here?"

I discovered a love like no other over a year ago. I not only began to believe in God's love for me, I began to love myself.

What happened? Where did that go?

The process is so slow and it catches you off guard, and it breaks your heart when you realize... you are right back where you said you would never be again.

Not completely back, but back enough to completely discourage you from moving forward.

Two steps forward, one step back.

It's even harder to move forward after that one step back. That one damn step!

That one step is all it took for me to get here? That one damn step?

How can I move forward after taking a step back?

I don't know. I don't have an answer right now. And I might not have the energy to take another step forward, but I can promise you this... I'm balancing on the one step I am on, because I refuse to fall all the way back.

I know it's not much of a promise, but it's all I've got for now.

you watch

I didn't make this video, nor do I know much about the man at the end, but the pictures give a glimpse that I thought all of us could afford to take a look at. Please watch the whole thing.

"That's why I don't want to get married...

... because I'm afraid of getting infected!"



WHAT?

This broke my heart.

I made a friend in Africa... in fact, quite a few, but one in particular.

I got choked up on the bus one day after leaving one of the villages and he noticed.

Upon returning to the house he asked me what had gotten me so upset. I started out the day just fine... my normal self, but by the time we left for home, I just gazed out the window and cried to myself. He noticed... and so we sat in the yard and talked about all that we had seen that day. We talked about how easy it is to love the people and how hard it is to leave them. We talked about AIDS. We talked about how a whole generation was lost to this one disease.

A whole generation!

We came across so many grandparents and so many grandchildren, but no parents. They were gone. Lost. To AIDS.

We talked about one little girl in particular who a lady on our trip became very close with. The girl's mom left after she was born and her father died of AIDS... which meant there was speculation that maybe this child had this disease too.

AIDS is taboo. Some people rather not know than get tested. I take that back... most people. I won't speak for all of Africa, or even all of Uganda, but I will say that a majority of the people we came across all agreed that most people would rather not know. If they don't know, they don't have it... or at least that is where they put their hope. With the testing comes confirmation, and if the confirmation is positive, all hope is lost. Some people would rather risk their life than risk their hope, because to them, their hope is their life. If they have no hope to live... what's the point?

To a certain degree I think everyone can relate to this. We all have hope in something whether we know it or not.

The question is... where are we going to put it? And how are we going to let it dictate our lives?

Are we going to let fear of losing that hope paralyze us from taking the next step, no matter how hard that may be?

I know there is a really good spiritual answer to as this... "put your hope in Jesus," but with all do respect (while totally agreeing that this is what is necessary), people need to be helped physically before you can help them spiritually. People need to know you care. People need to be loved. You can tell someone Jesus loves them all day long, but if you aren't showing them love, what good is that? And why should they believe you?

I discovered a common bond between my recovery from an eating disorder and my trip to Africa... a need for physical health.

When Jesus healed, he healed people's physical needs and then He ministered to their hearts.



So what does this have to do with getting married?

This was my friend's response when we talked about how prevalent and how scary AIDS is...

"That's why I don't want to get married... I'm afraid of getting infected."

My heart broke. Here I go around saying I don't want to get married because "guys are jerks," or "Mr. Right doesn't exist," and my friend, my friend who has a desire to spend the rest of his life with someone, lives in fear of that very desire.

Infidelity rates have been extremely high in Uganda (but getting better), which is why even those who get married aren't guaranteed safety from this disease.

In talking with another team member from Uganda, he told me that (statistically) every single person in his country either has a family member or knows someone who has died from AIDS... every single person.

A whole generation... lost!

Gone.

And while even though there are those who live in freedom from this disease, they still live in fear of the "what if?"

"What if I get infected?"



And so... I pray for my friend. I pray for his desire and I pray for his fear. And though I will never be able to fully understand his fear, I understand his desire. And so I pray for him.

As best as I know how, I pray for all of them.

baby steps

My mind is clouded... completely distracted.

I have to be up at 4am, but that doesn't seem to phase me right now. The way I see it, it is 6am in Africa, so I have already been at work for 2 hours.

That is where I am... I am still in Africa. Maybe not physically, but my mind is there...

my heart too.

Something happened in Africa. Something I didn't think would happen.

I know, right here is when I'm supposed to say something like "I fell in love," and even though I did fall in love with the people there, that's not it. I expected to fall in love. I knew I would fall in love.

What I didn't expect was to get angry at God. I was "supposed" to get closer to God, not get angry at Him... especially so much so that I didn't even want to talk to Him anymore.

In fact, we just started talking again a few days ago. Well, maybe I should say I just started talking to Him again. I'm sure He was probably talking to me, but I didn't listen... nor did I want to.

I'm gonna be honest... it was quite freeing to ignore God for a while. And to be completely honest... it was quite easy.

It still is easy... but I am attempting to at least give it a try... talking to Him, that is.

Right here is when I tell you why I am angry at God, but I'm not going to. I don't know how to flesh it out yet. I can't process it all or even understand why it is there, I just know that it is, and that is what I have to be honest about.

I don't know the why's, but I do know the what's... I am angry... and it is very real... and part of me dealing with and facing that anger is owning up to it. After all, it's only been since I've admitted my anger that I've even had the desire to start talking to God again.

And even if I did have the why's all figured out, I probably still wouldn't expose it. Why? Because that's not the point. I don't "reveal all" to seek pity or beg for attention... I reveal me to expose who I really am and ask to be loved anyway.

Yes... the girl who portrays herself as so heroic for loving on the people of Africa and having the pictures to prove it, that girl is asking to be loved. Not for loving on African children, who are so easy to love, but simply for who she is... regardless of who she loves, regardless of what her pictures show.

(If you think I'm honest on my blog, you should meet my therapist).




And so... It has only been since admitting my anger that I have realized that I don't always have to be OK before going to God... I knew that before, but I forgot... we all forget.

I was reminded at service this weekend that Jesus told us to take communion in remembrance of Him.

Remembrance?

Why?

Because we forget.

I forgot that I don't have to be all peachy king before talking to Jesus. I forgot that my God is a big God who can handle my anger. I forgot that He was angry too... not at me, but with me. And most of all... I forgot that He even cared. I forgot that He not only cared about me, but that He cared about me even when I was angry.

Who does that?

Honestly, I was going to write this entry about how I got over my anger and started "serving the Lord" again... but... I'm not over it. And maybe sitting in anger isn't "serving the Lord," but the best I can do right now is to be honest about it.

I am angry.




But...




I am OK.

And I know I will be.

And I just thank God that I am allowed to be angry.





Which means we have started talking again... mostly about my anger, but talking.

A step up from the silence.

colorless

I held Cici's hand today.

When I started to feel myself get frustrated with a customer, I grabbed Cici's hand, and I held on for dear life.

I don't know if that was a good idea or a bad because there was a combination of emotions involved. On the one hand, I smiled and thought of her smile. For a split second I was back in Uganda, sitting on her door step, holding her hand, and just watching her head go back and forth as she laughed out loud. She had a good laugh... a rare quality these days.

On the other hand, I caught myself wanting to cry. Your heart breaks when you meet someone like Cici. Maybe you don't even realize it in the moment, but give it a week or two and get back into your normal routine, and then all of a sudden one day you realize... your heart is broken... and you can't stop thinking of Cici.

The thought of Cici can break your heart in a split second... but in that same second, the thought of Cici can mend your heart. How can you not smile when you think of someone like Cici? How can that smile and the thought of that woman not mend your heart?

As I go back and forth between emotions on the inside, I continue with my usual jokes and laughs on the outside. Cici wouldn't want me to cry for her. She would want me to remember her, but she wouldn't want me to cry for her. She would want me to come back to her, but she wouldn't want me to cry for her.

And so I decide... I do Cici no good standing here crying into people's coffee on her behalf. In fact, I do two parties no good... Cici, and the coffee drinkers.

And so I decide... I will go back to visit with Cici. I will go back to hold her hand and rest my head on her shoulder. Though she is blind, she has the qualities of a good mother... times 10... maybe even 11. And though I would want to hold her in my arms, she would want to hold me in hers. She would feel my skin and tell me how beautiful I am.

I don't know that I've ever really truly believed that until I heard it from the lips of a blind woman... the lips of Cici. Maybe it's because it had nothing to do with I look like. Maybe it's because even though she couldn't see me, she saw me exactly for who I was. She really saw me... and so few people do these days. They see the skin that I am in and they leave it at that.

Cici sees beyond the skin. I was not white, nor was she black. I was a woman (and still am... praise the Lord), who traveled to this third world country intending to "save the day" and love on it's people, who realized... even those who "save the day" (or think that's what they're doing) need to be held, need to be loved. I wanted to be loved, in the same ways that she and all women do... and over this, we bonded. In the connection between our colorless hands... we bonded.

And with this, I accepted her compliment, not because of pride or even because I agree with her, but because her definition of beauty is not the same as the world's... and I think that this is the biggest compliment that one can get... so I accept it.

And now that I am away from her, I close my eyes and I see her more clearly than ever. It is amazing how much you really can see someone when you can't see them at all. She is just as beautiful now as she was that day on her door step.

And so... I stop crying and I smile, because I know I will see her again, and I know what this means...



I will go back to Africa!*


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*Which also means I will be writing you all soon for more money.
(hey, like I said, I have to be honest in all of my writings)

:)