I leave for Mozambique tomorrow evening, so today has been full of last minute packing, shopping, general running about.
Today, as I sorted through stacks of this and that, I came across an article that I wrote for CIDA at the end of my internship in February. I remember exactly how I felt when I was writing it, and it is those same feelings that motivate me now.
"For five months, beginning in August of 2008, I worked in a water and sanitation project in rural western Uganda as part of a CIDA/Samaritan's Purse internship. One of the daily highlights was the natural beauty of the African bush. Everything looked like an illustration out of a Dr. Seuss book with the hills rolling crazily along, bursting with tress, shrubs and flowers of impossible variety. As we shuddered down rusty, rutted roads in our truck I would stare out the window, caught up in the stunning explosion of color.
In that marvelous medley of brilliance one tree stood out like a ghost, its sparse grey branches gnarled and bare. It looked completely lifeless, except for one thing. At the end of each deadened limb a vibrantly red flower bloomed--a burst of life against a backdrop of grey.
I was often reminded of an ancient proverb from the Bible, "Hope deferred, " it says, "makes the heart sick." Frustrated hope was all around me. Both personally and on a greater scale in the Ugandan people who hoped for almost everything: better health for their families, education for their children, peace in their homes, rain for their crops, food for their stomachs, and help from me which I often felt unable to give.
There were days when everything seemed to be painted in shades of grey. Our water program was truly making a difference, but it was easy to be overwhelmed by the many needs that were still unmet. In the midst of it all, however, I began to recognize splashes of the brightest, deepest, most perfect red. I loved those strange Ugandan trees because they made my heart ache with truth: hope always remains.
I heard hope in the trickling cadence of a filter that turned water from life threatening to life sustaining. I saw it when people living in absolute poverty coaxed beautiful flowers to grow around their simple mud and brick homes. I felt it in the generous hearts of my Ugandan community who found fulfillment and joy in relationships instead of possessions and who looked to the future with an expectation of good things to come.
I am leaving this internship with an overwhelming sense of optimism. We face massive and devastating problems as a global community, but I believe that we can work towards a better reality. There is enough good amongst us that we could make the world a better place if we earnestly chose to do so.
The rest of that ancient proverb declares that "a longing fulfilled is a tree of life." This experience has strengthened my vision to bring life into grey landscapes, watching hope bloom into reality, one brilliant red flower at a time."
Today, as I sorted through stacks of this and that, I came across an article that I wrote for CIDA at the end of my internship in February. I remember exactly how I felt when I was writing it, and it is those same feelings that motivate me now.
"For five months, beginning in August of 2008, I worked in a water and sanitation project in rural western Uganda as part of a CIDA/Samaritan's Purse internship. One of the daily highlights was the natural beauty of the African bush. Everything looked like an illustration out of a Dr. Seuss book with the hills rolling crazily along, bursting with tress, shrubs and flowers of impossible variety. As we shuddered down rusty, rutted roads in our truck I would stare out the window, caught up in the stunning explosion of color.
In that marvelous medley of brilliance one tree stood out like a ghost, its sparse grey branches gnarled and bare. It looked completely lifeless, except for one thing. At the end of each deadened limb a vibrantly red flower bloomed--a burst of life against a backdrop of grey.
I was often reminded of an ancient proverb from the Bible, "Hope deferred, " it says, "makes the heart sick." Frustrated hope was all around me. Both personally and on a greater scale in the Ugandan people who hoped for almost everything: better health for their families, education for their children, peace in their homes, rain for their crops, food for their stomachs, and help from me which I often felt unable to give.
There were days when everything seemed to be painted in shades of grey. Our water program was truly making a difference, but it was easy to be overwhelmed by the many needs that were still unmet. In the midst of it all, however, I began to recognize splashes of the brightest, deepest, most perfect red. I loved those strange Ugandan trees because they made my heart ache with truth: hope always remains.
I heard hope in the trickling cadence of a filter that turned water from life threatening to life sustaining. I saw it when people living in absolute poverty coaxed beautiful flowers to grow around their simple mud and brick homes. I felt it in the generous hearts of my Ugandan community who found fulfillment and joy in relationships instead of possessions and who looked to the future with an expectation of good things to come.
I am leaving this internship with an overwhelming sense of optimism. We face massive and devastating problems as a global community, but I believe that we can work towards a better reality. There is enough good amongst us that we could make the world a better place if we earnestly chose to do so.
The rest of that ancient proverb declares that "a longing fulfilled is a tree of life." This experience has strengthened my vision to bring life into grey landscapes, watching hope bloom into reality, one brilliant red flower at a time."
3 comments:
Inspiring. That article should be published.It was pure poetry.Hopeful and motivating! I will miss you friend.Deeply.
Beautiful.
I love that you are going!
oh Krenr that was so lovely. To be able to express something like that so vividly is truly a gift!
Be safe friend...
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