Making a Home

Bushara Island is home to 80+ species of birds. One of these species is the weaver bird. I’m not a huge birder but these guys are awesome. On the occasional morning when I wake up early to catch a little extra quiet time I like to go and sit on one of the docks and watch them build their nests. They build their nests to be fully covered with a tunnel-like entry. There’s one nest I’ve been watching for almost the entire two weeks I’ve been here and they’re still working on it.

Building a house takes time, and we expect it to take time, but building a home also takes time. I’ve been working on making this house and island into a home since the day we arrived and there is still a long way to go. I’ve hung photos on the walls (most of which have fallen down), placed notes and cards from friends on my windowsills and swept the spiders out of the corners of my room but this isn’t home yet.

This island will be home when I stop second-guessing every other word that comes out of my mouth, wondering if I’ve said something culturally unacceptable. It will be home when I can speak enough Rukiga to confidently greet my co-workers who don’t speak English. It will be home when I feel comfortable enough to let loose.

The hugs I received from the kids at church yesterday, the greetings I’ve already learned, the already familiar laughs and smiles, the battery-powered Christmas lights hanging over my bug net, the constant sound of birds, and the bag of guava a co-worker gave us. These are the things that are already making this island into my home.

I’ve learned this lesson before. No matter when or where you move it’s going to be hard. Community takes time to form and every place is different. I think I’m finally starting to learn to embrace the process. It’s messy and often unpleasant but the end result is fully and completely worthwhile. It’s worth fighting through the discomfort of moving and meeting new people because it always ends with another place and group of people to call home. It always ends with a heart that has been stretched and, as a result, has grown.

Photo: This is the one of five docks on Bushara Island and by far the best for swimming. The Island you can see across the water is Bwama Island. It's owned by the Anglican church and houses two schools, a church, the agroforesty plot where Rachel works and a medical clinic that you can see on the far right of this photo. Bwama Island is one of the biggest islands on Lake Bunyonyi and used to be a leper colony. My goal is to be able to swim there and back by the time we leave... it's further than it looks.

Returning Home

One month ago I had the honor of returning home.

I came back to this place after four months of being in Uganda and two months traveling in Europe (plus two summers of working in Canada and two years of college). I have never been so happy to sleep in the same bed, in the same room, in the same house, in the same city, in the same state, in the same country for so many days in a row. The sameness of it all is nice, but partly because it isn't all the same.

Like they should, some things have changed. My community here has changed. Most of my friends are away at college and the few that are not have also changed. My family has changed. My church has changed. These communities have changed in so many subtle ways it is sometimes hard to see the growth that has occurred. It becomes even more complicated to see and view these changes positively when the lens with which I view each of these communities has also changed.

How can I begin to compare what exists now to what used to exist? I don't want to fall back into the roles I played within each of these areas of my life but I don't know how to fight this temptation. It seems that each of these communities has in some way embraced my return by opening up the mould in which I used to fit.

The things is, I don't necessarily fit into the moulds I used to slide into so easily. Trying to fit seems easy at first but I'm very quickly finding out that it doesn't quite work. I've changed, but the mould has also changed. Maybe I could slowly return the mould to the shape it used to be... or I could make the more difficult choice, allowing myself to not fit into the mould until I know it's the right mould for me.

Can I make the decision to simply float here until I have figured out where my place should be in these beautiful communities?

If there is anything I have learned in the past couple years it is that my role in the communities I find myself is important. I can help a community to grow or I can tear it down. I can allow it to change me for the better or, if I'm not careful, I can find myself being torn down. Maybe for now it is best to remain on the outside looking in, objectively trying to see both flaws and strengths. One day soon I will be able to fit into the mould I belong in without unknowingly throwing off the delicate balance within these communities. It's okay to not belong for a little while longer for the sake of one day finding a place I can really belong.

The Joy of Knowing

We are so intricately made that we don’t even know ourselves. How mind-boggling is that? We blink and suddenly we’ve changed… yet somehow we convince ourselves that we know and understand each other. That we know all there is to know about the friend we’ve known for three months or a year… or at least all that is worth knowing. Man. There are so many layers to every person I’ve ever met. How can I continue being content knowing people for four months and then moving on?

I want to settle into one place. One set of people. I want to spend years and years, the rest of my life really, focusing on knowing one set of people. And I don’t just want to know. I want to love. I don’t want to back away when I figure out that you’re not perfect. I want to embrace that imperfection because it is exactly the same imperfection I see in myself. We’re all walking around missing the mark and we’re all covering it up. I want to be with people who know my depravity. I want to live into the truth that I am corrupt, not because I want to be more corrupt but because I don’t think that corruption can be escaped until I admit it and I don’t think admitting it to myself carries nearly as much weight as allowing other people into my life to see me for who I really am.

I wasn’t made to run to God alone. I can sometimes convince myself that my relationship with God was meant to be a ‘me and God strolling through a quiet meadow’ type relationship. Then I mess up. And God uses someone else to turn me back in the right direction. God uses my friends, my acquaintances, my professors, even strangers to turn me around- to fill me up with hope. Only when I enter into the stampede of people running towards God do I ever seem to experience meadow-moments. I want this shared experience to be deepened by time. We are dreadfully wicked and delightfully liberated by the same God. With this knowledge, why would we not want to strive for greater knowledge of who we are- together? Simply put- let us endeavor to be friends.