Kissed

It's been a good year for transcendence.

In my community group this week, we discussed beauty. We talked about art and literature, music and food, nature and poetry, and then our leader made what should have been a simple request: Name a time in your life when you have been deeply touched by beauty. It should have been simple.

I am actually prone to being deeply touched by beauty. My life has been blessedly disorganized and uncommitted in such a way that I have often been at leisure to stop and watch the sunset, or to read a book on the cliffs overlooking Muir Beach, or to enjoy an impromptu drum circle in Central Park. The request to share an experience of being overwhelmed by beauty wasn't difficult because I had nothing to share; it was difficult because being deeply touched by beauty is a bi-weekly (or is it semi-weekly?) experience for me. I am easily wrapped up in the shape of a winter tree or a well-crafted sentence. I tap my feet and do a little boogie unashamedly when my ipod offers me a favorite song. I never fear to raise my hands in worship and I "amen" the preacher under my breath with regularity. Enjoying the beautiful has never been a problem for me.

The interesting thing about beauty is that it isn't exactly what you think it is. Those of you who aren't followers of Christ may have an easier time admitting that the opening guitar rift of Here Comes the Sun constitutes a thing of beauty or that there is, indeed, something beautiful about the movie American Beauty. You may find it easier to praise the grace of Michael Phelps' butterfly or the brilliant triumph of Harry Potter. The church has, however, on the whole, distanced itself from these kinds of common beauty, or "lower case b" beauty and have limited ourselves, unnecessarily so, to appreciation and creation of art that explicitly represents "capital B" Beauty.

Ironically, the Beauty/beauty distinction is not really a distinction at all. Beauty with a capital B is the expression of God's character--the overflow of His nature and source of all that we call beautiful. beauty with a lower case b is the manifestation of Beauty in the created world--in art and music and nature, in dance and a well-cooked meal and in poetry.

Before the Enlightenment, the church was actually the primary source and patron of art and music, dance, architecture, sculpture, and drama. None of it was lame, much of it was not tame, and some of it was downright irreverent. But it was beautiful because it bred in the people of the day the kind of transcendence that brings us closer to God. It showed His character through stories of treachery and betrayal just as it revealed His character through the masterful representation of the human body in stone. It is unfortunate that, in the 21st century, we deny ourselves the joy of being touched by "non-Christian" art because it isn't an explicit statement about God's person. We separate ourselves from it to protect ourselves from unsavory influences, but we take our self-preservation to the extreme and deny ourselves the joy of seeing Beauty in the image of God and creative nature of the people around us--and we do so to our detriment.

This year has been especially transcendent for me. I've been overwhelmed by beauty more than my fair share this year. Overwhelmed so much so, that I still can't even talk about some of it. I was overwhelmed by Hamlet at The Courtyard theatre in Stratford-Upon-Avon just last month. I was overwhelmed by the sunrise over Edinburgh and the feeling of sitting high above that perfect city from my perch on Arthur's Seat. I was overwhelmed by the soggy greens and deep browns of the rural hills of West Lothian. I was brought to tears at the grave of CS Lewis.

And then, last night, I saw Chris Thile live again. Those of you who have read my previous post mentioning Chris Thile know that seeing him live is, for me, like sitting on Arthur's Seat overlooking Edinburgh, at sunrise with CS Lewis and then going home to my cottage in West Lothian and watching the Royal Shakespeare Company perform Hamlet in my back yard. It's beyond good. All the times I've seen him before have been in pretty intimate venues--you know, me and a thousand other people. Last night was like seeing him perform in my closet. It was tiny in there. There was no need for amplification, there was no need for a zoom lens, and there was certainly no desire whatsoever to be anywhere else--ever.

Chris has written a symphony of sorts for bluegrass instruments--mandolin, banjo, guitar, fiddle, and bass. It spans four movements over forty minutes and is one of the most compelling, gut-wrenching, stirring, sublime, and complex pieces of music I have ever heard. I float like a bird on that piece of music, diving and climbing, drifting and floating. I mourn lost love with Chris and I stand with him as he begs for mercy and I close my eyes and let the music carry me away. And last night, somewhere in the middle of those breathless forty minutes, I lost myself in worship.

(My Christian friends are praying for my idolatrous soul right now, so let me explain.)

I have a very soft spot for Chris Thile. He has been with me in all kinds of weather in all kinds of circumstances. Chris sang me through grad school. I enjoyed the beaches of Northern California and the hills of San Francisco with his mandolin singing in the background. He sang me off to Turkey, and stayed with me on countless boat trips between Europe and Asia across the Bosphorus. Chris has reminded me of God's faithfulness and of my own unfaithfulness. He road tripped with me to New York and has walked me home through the black streets of Brooklyn in the snow at midnight. And I, in turn, have been with him. I have mourned with him as he pled fruitlessly for his ex-wife's forgiveness. I have agonized with him as he worked out his agony by working it into song. He has made me laugh and cry. And he has made me worship.

It's not Chris Thile that I worship. He may be tall and devlishly handsome; he may be brilliant and a virtuoso. But he is just a man. Most of the time, his music has nothing to do with God...and yet, I, a devoted follower of Christ found myself enrapt last night by the music flowing out of Chris Thile. I lost myself; I gave myself entirely over to the music, and in those blessed moments, I found my God.

But how is this possible? How can something like bluegrass music about the pain of divorce played by a man who isn't even sure if he believes in Christ or not cause me to see Christ anyway? It is because Beauty inspires beauty, and every once in a while, in moments like these, Heaven bends down and kisses earth. We all feel it, followers of Christ or not, but only those of us who know the smell of Heaven's breath can know the true Beauty in that communion between Heaven and Earth. I can lose myself in worship at a Chris Thile show because I know that beautiful music is a reflection of God's joy in Himself, and I know that the love of Christ can soothe the agony of a broken heart, and I know that the immense talent flowing from the mind and the voice and the fingers of this unparalleled musician came from a creator who loves excellence and who has chosen to bless Chris and his audiences with the kind of music that proves it. There is Beauty in the beauty of Chris' music, but it is up to Chris and his audiences whether or not they see it.

Home, But Not Exactly On The Range

I actually felt a little sad getting in the taxi for the airport. Africa was good to me. Yes, it was dusty and dirty. Yes, I was dusty and dirty. And yes, I know the exact ratios of sweat, bug spray, sunscreen, and river water necessary for making a human being feel as gross as is humanly possible.

I learned that Mirinda Fruity is possibly the best soft drink known to man. I learned that malaria medicine is excellent for the complexion. And I learned that the ant is arguably the most brilliant of all God’s creatures—or at least the most ambitious.

At the end of August 2008, Africa opened its arms and embraced me. I had become exhausted in every way by the madness that is New York City, but as the breeze of Lake Victoria blew across my care-worn face every day, the struggle and uncertainty of the last year slowly faded away. I fell into the joy of doing what I was made to do. I basked in the freedom of my calling. I was sloppy with creative juices. And when Africa saw me off at the end of September, I was myself again. I had been nurtured back to health and happiness by the Motherland. She gave me a new beginning.

Now I’m back in New York…and to a new beginning indeed. I’m homeless and jobless. I have no plans and no sense of certainty about anything at all—save one. I am certain that I’m about to write a book. I have no idea how it’s going to turn out, but I know that my task now is to pray, close my eyes, put my fingers to the keyboard, and write. No amount of uncertainty, hardship, or New York insanity can change the task so clearly before me.

When someone asks me what I do, from now on, I will not say, “I’m just a temp.” Nor will I say, “I’m a housekeeper,” “I’m an office monkey,” or “I’m a barista.” Even though I may be any of those things, my clear and decisive answer will be, “I’m a writer.” This is my new beginning.

Consider me an ant with an enormous crumb. Carrying that crumb to my ant lair is going to be difficult if I try to do it on my own. That’s why I need you to be with me. I can’t carry this thing by myself. You are not just my audience; you are my co-laborer. The accountability and encouragement you have already given me and will give me in the months to come have and will challenge me to do my best work and to do justice to the calling placed on my life.

Thank you for being with me thus far. Thank you for being with me in the future. The blog won’t stop because the trip is over. We’re in this for the long haul. I need you. I look forward to sharing my stories with you individually, so don’t hesitate to ask me a million questions next time you talk to me. It was tough to leave Africa, but because of you and because of the task ahead, it is really good to be home.

T-minus Three Days and Sprinting to the End

Remember the days when I was able to spend some time writing long, insightful posts for you nice folks? Those were good days. They were the days of plenty of room on my computer and ipod, the days of clean shoes, the days of having enough time to shower every day. I remember them well...and I've left them behind. I'm not complaining, mind you. I mean, I DID just spend three days on safari. But I returned and found myself in the final sprint to the end, and boy am I running!! Today I'll be crossing the Equator. I hear they have a place there where a guy will do the water thing for you. You know, make it drain one direction on the North side, and the other direction on the South side. Lori and I are going down to a village made up almost entirely of the elderly, small children, and the mentally handicapped. I hope to conduct some interviews. Tomorrow I'm spending time with a girl named Jackie whose parents were killed by the LRA. And Wednesday I'm packing up and making my way to the airport. I hope to be able to write at least once more before I leave Uganda, but if I can't, I'll catch you up from the sunny banks of the Avon River on my quest to see Hamlet at the Royal Shakespeare Company.

Until then, I've made a video of the last week or so. This one is a bit longer than normal, so you may want to grab some provisions. Enjoy!

Note: This is a post I wrote several days ago...when I was still in Africa. For some reason I couldn't get it to come up on Blogger. So its a bit outdated. Sorry for any confusion! :o)

Grrrrrrroooooooooooooooowl!

Well, I'm a total slacker, it seems. Either that, or I've been so involved in the work here that I just haven't had time to blog like I want to. Let's go with the second one.

On top of that, I'm leaving the internet behind for the next three days in search of the elusive lion's roar. No, that's not a metaphor. I'm going on safari. In the two years I lived in Botswana, even though I spent a good deal of time in the bush and on safari, I never heard a lion growl. Hopefully all that will change in the next three days.

Lori and I will be traveling up to Murchison Falls National Park with a local safari group for a much-looked-forward-to holiday in the wild. I'll be back in internet range on Friday evening.

I've decided not to go to Gulu after all, so thank you all for your prayers regarding that. It just didn't feel right to me. So after safari, I will be going back to Jinja for a little less than two days, then back here to Kampala for three, and then I will be flying out. IT'S SO SOON!!!! I have alot to do between now and the 24th, but I will do my best to keep you all in the loop. I have several blog posts knocking around in my much too full noggin right now, so I just need to get them down in print.

Thanks again for everything you do for me. I would not be here, having the time of my life, without you.

A

Bouncy Flouncy Trouncy

Yay for video number three! This time, it's all about transpo. So put your feet up, take your Dramamine, and enjoy a little tour of Uganda.

Ask and Ye Shall Receive

As promised, this post is nothing but things you can pray for. Lucky!

You can thank God with me that I have been healthy--completely healthy--the entire trip so far, and that I have been safe as well.

You can also thank God for his goodness in protecting mine and Lori's relationship and in providing such gracious and giving contacts here. I have been showered with hospitality and good will.

Also, you can thank him that I've been able to do everything I wanted to so far--meeting and spending time with orphans, recording their stories and writing up extensive daily notes to help me in the writing process, getting enough rest, and of course being faithful to post blogs and videos.

Things you can ask him for include:

Good contacts in the second half of the trip.
Continued health and safety.
Creative, mental, physical, and spiritual stamina.
The ability to focus and stick to the task at hand.
Wisdom in spending the remainder of my funds.
Rest and refreshment.
The ability to interview well and the social energy to enjoy the children and young adults I'm spending time with.
Fresh eyes to see the extraordinary things around me that threaten to become commonplace with familiarity.
Humility--the ability to respond well to God's leadership in all things.
Single-mindedness and selflessness.
A spirit of giving and compassion.

Some specific requests for this week are:

A good day with Julius and his siblings on Friday.
A good day of interviews at Father's Divine Love Ministries on Monday.
That I would make good connections in Gulu and would be able to go, or that I would have wisdom to know whether or not to go. I would be alone for this trip, and am a little wary.
A good day of worship and rest on Sunday.

Again, thank you all so much for your faithfulness in prayer and for your friendship and encouragement.

Oh! And expect a video tomorrow! :o)
A

Status Update

I thought it might be appropriate, now that I'm right around the halfway mark on the trip, to give you guys a quick status update. I have about 2 1/2 weeks to go, and a little less than two weeks already under my belt. It certainly seems like I've been here much longer!! In a good way...

So far, I've spent lots of time with a boy that I always knew would play a prominent role in the book. His name is Julius and he lives with his three younger siblings in Jinja. I've had the chance to spend two days with him so far, and plan to spend another day with him in the coming week to hopefully see his home and his school and meet his siblings.

I have also spent some time with some girls from an orphan rescue ministry called Dwelling Places--primarily a girl called Harriet. Today I will be spending the day with Harriet and her brothers Sam and Joseph as we go out to another orphan home called Watoto to visit their younger siblings. Please pray for us to have a good time, and also for good interviews.

Next week I plan to connect with a man named William in Jinja who runs a small home for AIDS orphans, and also a man named David Livingstone who runs an orphanage outside Jinja. On the 16th I will leave Jinja for good, so please pray that this will be a productive week.

I will be coming back to Kampala on the 16th, and will be leaving the next morning for a 2 1/2 day safari with Lori at Murchison Falls game park. Upon leaving Murchison Falls, I hope to find my way to Gulu in the north to meet with some orphans there. I have no contacts in Gulu as of yet, so please pray that the logistics will work out, or that I will be able to modify the plan to make those days productive.

I plan to leave Gulu on the 21st to return to Kampala. On the 22nd, I'm hoping to meet with a girl named Jackie whose parents were burned to death by the LRA, and on the 23rd I will go to a village south of the Equator to meet some orphans and the grandparents who care for them. Lori will be joining me to evaluate a well project in the village.

So that's the plan. I was feeling a bit overwhelmed yesterday, because right now I don't feel like I have anywhere near the amount of information that I need. Please pray that I will trust that the Lord has a plan, and that He will carry it out in His own time and way. I must just be fluid and obedient. You can also thank Him with me that I have been entirely healthy and safe for my entire trip so far. Literally nothing has gone wrong! I feel very insulated from trouble. I am confident moving about by myself, and have had no trouble at all with anything, really. I know that so much of that is due to your faithfulness to keep praying for me. Please keep it up. I hope to have the time soon to be able to write a blog just of things you can pray for me. Maybe when I get back from Watoto this evening.

And look for another video soon.

Hug yourself for me!
Amanda

Anecdotal Antidote: Stories from Africa to Cure What Ails You

I left Jinja the day before yesterday. We came over to Kampala because Lori had some meetings and I had some interviews with a few kids from a home called Dwelling Places. I didn't have a chance to wash my clothes before I left, so I just packed like I normally would, except that I put the clean clothes in my bag, and I carried my dirty clothes in a plastic bag. The dirty clothes far outnumbered the clean. In fact, I had only one day's worth of clean clothes left.

So we got to Kampala late and went to bed and then I got up early yesterday morning and went to my day of interviews (which went pretty well, thanks for asking). When I came back last night, I was filthy from a long sweaty day on dirt roads, so I showered, put on my pajamas, and went outside to the clothes-washing tub to wash my clothes. I'm getting pretty good at washing clothes by hand, by the way. I washed everything except the skirt I was going to wear to church tomorrow and my long-sleeved t-shirt--and the only reason I didn't wash it was because it had gotten covered up and I didn't see it. When I finished, I had one of my many African "Oh crap" moments. I suddenly realized that all my clothes were wet. And they stayed wet all night long, hanging from my headboard, from the dresser shelves, from the mosquito net, and from the curtain rod. And they were still wet this morning when it was time for me to get dressed. So...today I'm wearing a long sleeved t-shirt and my Sunday skirt. Not exactly my finest fashion moment.

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Lori and I went up to a place called Bujagali Falls on the Nile earlier this week for a little rest from the madness. We spent all day just hanging out and doing nothing in an open air cafe on a hill overlooking the river. While we were there, the owner of one of my favorite restaurants came in with his mom. I was excited because I had wanted to meet him. He's from Iceland and seems to be a pretty interesting fellow. He proved me right when I asked his name, and instead of just telling me, he lifted up his shirt to show me his name, Ellert, tatooed in huge letters across his stomach. I will never, as long as I live, forget that man's name.

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I find it very interesting that when children here see us white folk, two words normally and almost universally come flowing forth from their little lips. The first word is "muzungu" which is the Luganda word for a foreigner. That's to be expected. But the second is always a little confusing; after they say muzungu, they say "bye." So I am greeted several times a day with "Muzungu Bye!" It makes me wonder if they hear muzungus saying "bye" more than they hear them saying "hello." At any rate, I greet people by saying "bye" every day.

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And finally, I learned the meaning of the phrase "white knuckles" the other night. Lori and I had just arrived in Kampala from Jinja, and had to take a matatu (minibus) to our guest house from the city center. So we walked down with all our stuff to the bus stop to wait for the matatu to come by. After standing there for about fifteen minutes with no matatu in sight, Lori gave me the look I'd been dreading. It was the look that said, "It looks like we're gonna have to take a boda boda."

A boda boda, for those of you who haven't already guessed the worst, is a motorcycle fitted with a tiny backseat upon which Uganda's bravest choose to sit daily, the wind and dust whipping around them, their unprotected bodies hurtling along crowded streets at 40 miles an hour, hovering a mere foot or so from asphalt, dirt, and rocks.

Now I don't mind the bodas in Jinja. My first boda ride was with Lori (yes, there's room for two passengers on a boda) on the way back from Ellert's restaurant. It was late at night and the dirt roads between there and our place were all but deserted. Only slightly terrifying. My next boda ride was out to Bujagali Falls. It was during the day, there was a little more traffic, but much of the ride was on village roads. Ok, no problem.

But my first boda ride without Lori was in Kampala, at night, with all my worldly possessions on my lap. I closed my eyes at first, determined not to see the calamity that certainly awaited me. But eventually I opened them because I decided I'd rather see it coming. I did alot of praying, and alot of plotting about exactly how I would try to position myself when I fell off. I was actually more concerned for my computer, which was at the time held in the vise-like grip of my knees, than I was about myself. I thought about my elbows alot, wondering how extensive and permanent the damage to them would be, since the plan was to shield my computer with my body, specifically the forearms. I thought about my elbows when the driver, unsatisfied with the speed of a truck in front of us, chose to leave the road for the dirt trail over the curb that people use for a sidewalk. I also thought about my elbows when he slid on gravel trying to get back on that road. And I thought about my elbows when he decided that traffic was moving too slowly on our side of the road and opted instead for weaving through oncoming traffic for a good half-mile.

When I finally arrived at the guest house, I had to concentrate to unweld my left hand from the bar on the back of the motorcycle. I may be scarred for life. But at least the scars are only mental...and I got them all for the low low price of $1.20. Uganda: Terror for Less.

Number Two....Like Lightning

Now that I figured out how to make, edit, and upload my videos, the second one went much more quickly. I hope you like it!




I'd also like to ask you all to pray for me this weekend. I am going back to Kampala to meet some orphaned girls who are involved with an organization called Dwelling Places. I have several interviews to do tomorrow and will hopefully be spending the weekend with them. Please ask for emotional and mental stamina for me and that God would loosen the girls' tongues and hearts to share the story that he would have told. I find that the interview process is extremely tiring for me. I appreciate you so very much! Thanks for your prayers and love!!

In Denile

I stuck my feet in the Nile River the other day. It wasn’t exactly what I imagined. From where I stood, I could look upstream all the way to the source of the river. But this river doesn’t begin as a spring on a mountaintop somewhere. It doesn’t bubble and babble its way through fallen leaves and over forgotten pebbles. It doesn’t slowly gather speed and volume over hundreds of miles, turning from a spring to a brook to a stream. This river begins as a ripple and a current change in the world’s largest lake. At its source, the Nile River is about 150 meters wide and its current is already dangerously strong. Standing at the source, you can look out over the great waters and see the very spot where the lake gives way to the river. In fact the waters of this mother of all lakes actually break in waves over the surface of the river and find themselves swept downstream and all the way to the Mediterranean.

I never really expected to stand in the Nile River, and I certainly never expected that if I did, I would be looking around at lush green hills covered with banana trees and clear blue skies. When I imagined stepping in the Nile, I imagined pyramids and camels. I imagined baby Moses floating in a basket among the reeds by Pharaoh’s palace. I imagined sand and dust and six thousand years of history enveloping me into its story.

I’ve been thinking a lot about my imagination lately. I do a lot of imagining—imagining places I’d like to go, imagining what my life could be like, imagining who I’d like to be. But I have discovered over and over lately--now that my life is much more fluid and much less structured than it used to be—that the stuff of my imagination is never quite good enough. It is never big enough or extravagant enough or exciting enough. God’s imagination is always trumping mine! He is always giving me bigger, more extravagant, more exciting things than I could have imagined myself. Sure, His imagination involves the unconventional, the unexpected, and occasionally the downright bizarre more often than not. But who ever said that the conventional, expected, “normal” way of life was the life that we, as followers of Christ, were meant to live? I find that as I stop questioning God’s sanity as he unveils his imagination in my life, the more fulfilling, the more exciting, the more alive my life is. As I let Him be the Great Storyteller instead of trying to write my own lame-o stories, I find myself neck deep in adventures I never dreamed of.

My dreams of the Nile River were different from what I found. You see, as the Nile flows up through Sudan and finally to Egypt and into the Mediterranean, it becomes more and more polluted. It is so polluted, in fact, that visitors to Egypt are told that under no circumstances are they to allow the waters of the Nile to touch their skin. Wading in the Nile in Egypt is not an option. Looking at the pyramids while standing ankle deep in this mythical river is simply not possible. But here, in Uganda, at the very source of the Nile, I can enjoy the cool Ugandan breeze on my face as it plays over the water; I can hum along to African jazz as it plays in the café behind me; I can enjoy the gentle sway of the banana trees across the river; and I can do it all with my feet in clear, clean river water. It isn’t the Nile I imagined, but it is unexpectedly and infinitely better. I never expected the story of my feet in the Nile to go quite like it does. And I never expected the story of my life to look quite like it does. But the more I let go of my puny imagination and get swept up in His, the more and more I find myself standing in a Nile River I never imagined--standing right in the river instead of on its banks.

Live and In Technicolor

You can all stop holding your breath now. Video number one is finally here!! Believe me, I am far more excited about this than you are. It has been a steep learning curve, but I think I've got it. I hope you enjoy. I will try to make a better copy and put it up tomorrow. But until then, turn your head to the side, squint, and maybe, just maybe you'll be able to see Africa like I've seen it this week!



And yeah, there was no Ethiopia from the air. Technical difficulties. :o)

Funny How "Jinja" and "Ginger" Sound the Same with an African Accent

So it's been a couple of days, hasn't it? I think the last time I wrote I was sitting in the cafe of the Red Chilli Hideaway, my blood pulsing through my veins to the deafening rhythm whatever music happened to be on the radio at the time, and hoping against all hope that my blog would make as much an impact on you as the discovery of its content made on me. Today, I'm crammed in the back corner of the "Fast Internet Cafe" in Jinja on both the shores of the Nile River and Lake Victoria, and I assure you that only one word of the name of this place is accurate. There is, in fact, internet here. "Fast" is most definitely a relative term. But I'm incredibly grateful that there is internet here at all. And I'm incredibly grateful that there are so many people at home who love me and are praying for me. I can feel the impact of your prayers in almost every situation I encounter. So thank you for that. Keep it up, because good things are on the horizon!!

I am thrilled to death to be able to let you guys know that my research started quite unexpectedly yesterday. I got together with a young man named Julius who was part of the inspiration for this project yesterday afternoon. The plan was to get together, play cards, drink sodas and get to know each other. We did all that--me beating him roundly in speed a shameful number of times--but he also opened up about himself and his life, and I was able to capture it all on my video camera, which is going to be incredibly helpful when I try to recount these conversations on paper. I had been feeling a little pressed in the last few days because I had been here for several days and hadn't gotten started on the research, so I prayed yesterday morning that God would at least allow me to feel that my day was productive in some way. And as is so common with Him, He did just that and so much more!! I'm going to be spending the day with Julius and his siblings on Tuesday and then joining them at church Tuesday night on the first of what I hope are several days of getting to know him and his life. I can't wait to introduce this extraordinary young man to you.

I have also been able to make several other contacts with orphan care-givers who have in turn suggested several orphans they know who would be good "subjects" for me. I hope to be meeting a girl named Harriet later this week in Kampala, a six-year-old girl who has been abandoned by her parents (whose name I don't recall right now), and an adult orphan named Godfrey who was raised by missionaries. Lori and I will also be making a trek down to a village in the south of Uganda--past the equator (!)--that is made up primarily of small orphans and the grandmothers who care for them. I'm still trying to get up to Gulu to meet some children who have been affected by the conflict in Northern Uganda, and have a few more contacts to make in Jinja. My schedule is filling up quickly!

My hope for the next four-ish weeks is to be able to connect with eight or nine "star" orphans whose stories I can tell. Please pray that God will make those orphans obvious to me and that I will have the conversational skills I need to be able to connect with them on a deeper level and enjoy their lives. I am most certainly out of my depth on this one, and I am clinging to Christ more than ever. I was feeling discouraged the other day, but when I opened the Bible that night, He reminded me in 2 Corinthians 3:5 that He is my adequacy. He is in control of this project, and He will bring about a result that will bring Him glory and will further His purposes in the world. I'm so grateful to be a part of it.

I know this post isn't exactly as concise as many of my posts tend to be, but I wanted to give you a little glimpse into the basics of what is going on. I have so much more to tell...so I guess it's a good thing I'm gonna have a whole book to do it!

Thank you again to all of you for following me on this journey. I wish I could show you everything. I guess you'll just have to come with me next time!

Love to you all...Amanda

PS--I have a video all ready to go, but I'm having to figure out some technical challenges on this end due to the slow internet. I hope to post the first video tomorrow, but don't put all your video-viewing eggs in that basket. :o)

Funny How "Jinja" and "Ginger" Sound the Same with an

So it's been a couple of days, hasn't it? I think the last time I wrote I was sitting in the cafe of the Red Chilli Hideaway, my blood pulsing through my veins to the deafening rhythm whatever music happened to be on the radio at the time, and hoping against all hope that my blog would make as much an impact on you as the discovery of its content made on me. Today, I'm crammed in the back corner of the "Fast Internet Cafe" in Jinja on both the shores of the Nile River and Lake Victoria, and I assure you that only one word of the name of this place is accurate. There is, in fact, internet here. "Fast" is most definitely a relative term. But I'm incredibly grateful that there is internet here at all. And I'm incredibly grateful that there are so many people at home who love me and are praying for me. I can feel the impact of your prayers in almost every situation I encounter. So thank you for that. Keep it up, because good things are on the horizon!!

I am thrilled to death to be able to let you guys know that my research started quite unexpectedly yesterday. I got together with a young man named Julius who was part of the inspiration for this project yesterday afternoon. The plan was to get together, play cards, drink sodas and get to know each other. We did all that--me beating him roundly in speed a shameful number of times--but he also opened up about himself and his life, and I was able to capture it all on my video camera, which is going to be incredibly helpful when I try to recount these conversations on paper. I had been feeling a little pressed in the last few days because I had been here for several days and hadn't gotten started on the research, so I prayed yesterday morning that God would at least allow me to feel that my day was productive in some way. And as is so common with Him, He did just that and so much more!! I'm going to be spending the day with Julius and his siblings on Tuesday and then joining them at church Tuesday night on the first of what I hope are several days of getting to know him and his life. I can't wait to introduce this extraordinary young man to you.

I have also been able to make several other contacts with orphan care-givers who have in turn suggested several orphans they know who would be good "subjects" for me. I hope to be meeting a girl named Harriet later this week in Kampala, a six-year-old girl who has been abandoned by her parents (whose name I don't recall right now), and an adult orphan named Godfrey who was raised by missionaries. Lori and I will also be making a trek down to a village in the south of Uganda--past the equator (!)--that is made up primarily of small orphans and the grandmothers who care for them. I'm still trying to get up to Gulu to meet some children who have been affected by the conflict in Northern Uganda, and have a few more contacts to make in Jinja. My schedule is filling up quickly!

My hope for the next four-ish weeks is to be able to connect with eight or nine "star" orphans whose stories I can tell. Please pray that God will make those orphans obvious to me and that I will have the conversational skills I need to be able to connect with them on a deeper level and enjoy their lives. I am most certainly out of my depth on this one, and I am clinging to Christ more than ever. I was feeling discouraged the other day, but when I opened the Bible that night, He reminded me in 2 Corinthians 3:5 that He is my adequacy. He is in control of this project, and He will bring about a result that will bring Him glory and will further His purposes in the world. I'm so grateful to be a part of it.

I know this post isn't exactly as concise as many of my posts tend to be, but I wanted to give you a little glimpse into the basics of what is going on. I have so much more to tell...so I guess it's a good thing I'm gonna have a whole book to do it!

Thank you again to all of you for following me on this journey. I wish I could show you everything. I guess you'll just have to come with me next time!

Love to you all...Amanda

PS--I have a video all ready to go, but I'm having to figure out some technical challenges on this end due to the slow internet. I hope to post the first video tomorrow, but don't put all your video-viewing eggs in that basket. :o)

Funny How

So it's been a couple of days, hasn't it? I think the last time I wrote I was sitting in the cafe of the Red Chilli Hideaway, my blood pulsing through my veins to the deafening rhythm whatever music happened to be on the radio at the time, and hoping against all hope that my blog would make as much an impact on you as the discovery of its content made on me. Today, I'm crammed in the back corner of the "Fast Internet Cafe" in Jinja on both the shores of the Nile River and Lake Victoria, and I assure you that only one word of the name of this place is accurate. There is, in fact, internet here. "Fast" is most definitely a relative term. But I'm incredibly grateful that there is internet here at all. And I'm incredibly grateful that there are so many people at home who love me and are praying for me. I can feel the impact of your prayers in almost every situation I encounter. So thank you for that. Keep it up, because good things are on the horizon!!

I am thrilled to death to be able to let you guys know that my research started quite unexpectedly yesterday. I got together with a young man named Julius who was part of the inspiration for this project yesterday afternoon. The plan was to get together, play cards, drink sodas and get to know each other. We did all that--me beating him roundly in speed a shameful number of times--but he also opened up about himself and his life, and I was able to capture it all on my video camera, which is going to be incredibly helpful when I try to recount these conversations on paper. I had been feeling a little pressed in the last few days because I had been here for several days and hadn't gotten started on the research, so I prayed yesterday morning that God would at least allow me to feel that my day was productive in some way. And as is so common with Him, He did just that and so much more!! I'm going to be spending the day with Julius and his siblings on Tuesday and then joining them at church Tuesday night on the first of what I hope are several days of getting to know him and his life. I can't wait to introduce this extraordinary young man to you.

I have also been able to make several other contacts with orphan care-givers who have in turn suggested several orphans they know who would be good "subjects" for me. I hope to be meeting a girl named Harriet later this week in Kampala, a six-year-old girl who has been abandoned by her parents (whose name I don't recall right now), and an adult orphan named Godfrey who was raised by missionaries. Lori and I will also be making a trek down to a village in the south of Uganda--past the equator (!)--that is made up primarily of small orphans and the grandmothers who care for them. I'm still trying to get up to Gulu to meet some children who have been affected by the conflict in Northern Uganda, and have a few more contacts to make in Jinja. My schedule is filling up quickly!

My hope for the next four-ish weeks is to be able to connect with eight or nine "star" orphans whose stories I can tell. Please pray that God will make those orphans obvious to me and that I will have the conversational skills I need to be able to connect with them on a deeper level and enjoy their lives. I am most certainly out of my depth on this one, and I am clinging to Christ more than ever. I was feeling discouraged the other day, but when I opened the Bible that night, He reminded me in 2 Corinthians 3:5 that He is my adequacy. He is in control of this project, and He will bring about a result that will bring Him glory and will further His purposes in the world. I'm so grateful to be a part of it.

I know this post isn't exactly as concise as many of my posts tend to be, but I wanted to give you a little glimpse into the basics of what is going on. I have so much more to tell...so I guess it's a good thing I'm gonna have a whole book to do it!

Thank you again to all of you for following me on this journey. I wish I could show you everything. I guess you'll just have to come with me next time!

Love to you all...Amanda

PS--I have a video all ready to go, but I'm having to figure out some technical challenges on this end due to the slow internet. I hope to post the first video tomorrow, but don't put all your video-viewing eggs in that basket. :o)

Ah, Technology...

I gave my TV away last week. The poor thing was on its last legs. It refused to turn off unless you unplugged it, the color was a little off, and since I didn’t have cable at home, I had to use an antenna to watch the broadcast channels, which dramatically reduced the already iffy picture quality. So when I couldn’t fit it in my storage container along with all my other worldly goods except what’s literally on my back here in Africa, I decided to part ways with it. Don’t get me wrong--that TV was good to me. Without it, I would still love Ian Thorpe more than Michael Phelps, and that would be a tragedy—not to mention downright un-American! Olympic glory notwithstanding, that TV was definitely ready for television heaven, so I sent it on its way.

Other television-related events of last week included seeing High-Definition television for the first time. I was minding my own business, buying some CDs to back up my computer before I took it on this little field trip to Uganda, and I glanced over to the TV section of the electronics store, and the picture on the display television nearly knocked my socks off. I had heard people gush, “Oh, HD is like real life. It looks so real.” But I never actually believed them. BUT THEY’RE RIGHT!! I actually thought there was a soccer player running through the back of the store for a brief second. It was so clear, so crisp, so sharp…so real. Quite a change from my fuzzy, plague-ridden TV at home.

This year in New York—no, the last three years since I left California—my life has seemed pretty fuzzy as well. God’s plan for me has involved both unprecedented struggle and unprecedented spiritual growth. But for the most part, the present and the future, as well as my own identity and role have been pretty fuzzy. The picture I’ve been getting though the antenna is recognizable, but not exactly clear. Sometimes other channels interrupt, or the reception cuts out altogether. Other times, I can see things pretty well, but I never know how long it’s going to last or when the next bout of static is going to set in. I’ve learned during this time to watch more carefully, to maintain a careful adjustment of my spiritual antenna, and most of all, to stay as close as possible to the screen so I don’t miss anything.

But yesterday, my life snapped suddenly and with distinct profundity out of fuzziness and into HD. It came unexpectedly as a result of my having had too much water and too many cups of Turkish tea at dinner. I had to go. I had to go bad. We stopped by a shop on the way back from dinner to look for a hairdryer—because I may be in Africa, but I’m still a girl—and I asked if there was a restroom. The attendant told me it was in the back of the store, so, propelled by a deep and urgent need, I ventured to the back of the store.

I found the bathroom after some careful searching. It was unlit, the stench was overwhelming, the floor was squidgy, there was no paper, and to top it all off, it was a squatty-potty. So I assessed the situation, let my eyes adjust to the darkness, stamped on the floor a few times to scare away any adventurous vermin, pulled some Kleenex out of my bag (carried for just such an occasion), disrobed with the flourish of a skilled squatty-user, and took care of business.

As I walked away from the situation, the HD clicked on. I realized that I had just faced and conquered the kind of situation that would have inspired many, many Westerners to clench a little harder and content themselves with another twenty minutes of the pee-pee dance, and I had faced it with nary a whine, and little, if any, dismay or hesitation. I simply dealt with the situation—and on top of that, I had come prepared for it! It was abundantly clear to me that I was made for this. I am doing right now what I was made to do. I would like nothing better than to bring glory to God, healing to the church, and peace and hope to the poor and needy of the world by living in or visiting places like this and writing about what I see. I can think of no other way I’d rather pour out my life.

Things have been fuzzy for me for a long time. But being in Africa, doing what I’m doing, I feel right. I feel like me. Things are so much clearer now than they have been for years. I guess it’s time my life caught up with technology! I don’t know if I’m going to get to throw out my fuzzy life when I get back to New York. I don’t know what the Plan is. But at least, for now, I’m looking at life in beautiful, vivid colors that I haven’t seen for a long time. There’s no squinting through the fuzz, and no hoping against hope that the signal will last long enough to watch the medal ceremony—again. There’s just the clarity of life in high definition.

Sleep Deprived and Feelin' Fine

ETHIOPIA: It’s 1:56 am in New York City on Tuesday morning. The last time I was asleep was 6:29 Sunday morning. My record for staying awake was previously forty hours…incidentally, the last time I flew to Africa. I’m currently at 44 and don’t foresee the golden slumbers catching up with me for another five, and possibly ten hours when I reach Uganda. I left sleep in Brooklyn and it apparently didn’t get my JFK-Heathrow-Bole-Entebbe itinerary. The good news is that my inability to sleep now will almost definitely result in me kicking jetlag’s puny little bootie before it ever even has a chance to set in. Take that, jetlag! Mwwwwwahahahahaha!

The trip has been alright so far. Of course, on the trip from JFK to London I was in a near constant state of euphoria, due to the sheer volume and variety of British accents washing over me with all their imperial goodness. God bless the British! Virgin Atlantic airlines is the single most wonderful airline I’ve ever been on. I had all the movies and tv shows I could ever hope to watch (with the glaring exception of Doctor Who, which I may have to write Richard Branson personally to complain about). Ethiopia Airlines was quite a tumble, however, after the joy that is Virgin Atlantic. The attendants were, well, inattentive, the bathrooms were in need of both a bath and some room, and the cabin was apparently not sealed well, because on both take-off and landing my hands and feet swelled up big enough to be painful. And, of course, there was the not-sleeping issue.

Not sleeping does funny things to the body. Mainly to the balance—which, as of this morning (is it morning here?), I am convinced is indelibly linked to the wit. Both are pretty wobbly right now.

So I’ll wobble on along to Uganda, and maybe by the time I get there I’ll be a little less unbalanced, a little more witty, and slightly less sleep deprived.

UGANDA (the next morning): The sleep deprivation project made it to 57 hours before the subject (me) nestled sweetly into her tent mattress and fell into an almost silent slumber for approximately 15.25 hours, effectively wiping out the exhaustion of the previous three days. And by “almost silent slumber,” I mean that in the middle of the night I sat up straight in my bed, sound asleep, looked at Lori and said, “I’m sorry I missed all that” before falling back into my dream. Ah, Africa. Let the fun begin!

Today, Wednesday, the plan is to go to the mall for some serious internet action, since the internet at the tent, while existent, likes to torture me with its slowness and unreliability.

I have the prospect of meeting a man in Kampala at some point called Livingstone who runs an organization for street children. We may head off to Jinja right away and come back later when we know for sure that Livingstone is in town. Please pray that this meeting and the many others I’m hoping for work out. I also have several phone calls to make today to people who are affiliated with World Orphans, one of the organizations who has been so kind to make connections for me. Those contacts are also in Jinja, so hopefully we will be able to go there tomorrow or the next day.

My biggest prayer request right now is that I will be able to be a good interviewer/conversationalist. I’m a much better writer than I am a talker, and I fear that my fair-to-middling conversational skills are going to make the information gathering process more difficult than it needs to be. Also, can you please pray that I would be outwardly and upwardly focused—focused on the Lord and on the task at hand—rather than inwardly focused on my self and my physical or emotional needs? I have a month to do this, and the less time I spend on selfishness, the better.

And, by the way, the Motherland welcomed me with open arms. Africa got into my blood when I lived here, and part of me has always been African-American. That part of me is currently taking a deep breath of its native air, and it feels good. And on that note, I think I’ll go back outside and let it breathe some more.

Love, Amanda

Dreadfully Boring Yet Informative

No, I don't mean the ingredients label on a box of bran muffins. It's this post that's dreadfully boring yet informative, silly! So here's the DL, the haps, the 411, the dillio:

I'm going to Uganda on Monday morning. Early. Like my flight leaves JFK at 7:30, which means I have to be there at 5:30, which means when I get on the train around 4, I'll probably be waking some train dwellers from their peaceful slumbers. The good news is that 23 short hours and two layovers (London and Addis Ababa) later, I'll be in Uganda. Small potatoes, if you ask me. *Note the heavy sarcasm.

My plan, and how often they go awry, is to blog daily and post videos several times a week. So don't blink, lest you miss something. I'll link my videos to this blog as well as wordpress blog--http://heythereamanda.wordpress.com blog--so that you won't have to look too far. But if you'd like to see my currently empty youtube channel, you can go to http://www.youtube.com/user/charatheos and see all my videos, which, again, aren't there yet. You can also subscribe to the blog through facebook.

Ok, let's see....I'm also going to be posting prayer requests daily, so please at least check those out and remember me in prayer. And of course I would love to receive any encouragement you have to offer in comments or through email, so bring it on! You are motivating me more than you know.

I think that's all for now. Knowing me, I've forgotten something vital, and you will be blessed with an unprecedented third post in less than twenty-four hours. Let's hope it doesn't come to that.

Love to you all!!

Blame It on John Mayer

Raise your hand if you love John Mayer's Room for Squares album. Ok, now keep your hand up if you would say that John Mayer's Room for Squares album is one of your favorites. Alright, I see those hands. Now, keep your hand up if you can truthfully say that there was a time when you listened to the aforementioned album so often that you could probably, even today, sing every word of it all the way from "Welcome" to "day" with no help from John. That's what I thought. Amanda, Maela, you can put your hands down, and I'm gonna put mine down too, mainly because typing the word "aforementioned" one-handed took all the fun out of that paragraph for me.

I love Room for Squares. I'm not a huge John Mayer fan, although I do think he's both a poet and a melodic genius, but that album spoke to me and made me think and opened my heart toward my generation in a way nothing else had up to that point. Unfortunately, it also ruined any hope of some memoirist or descendant digging up my past through photographs.

I am a world traveler. I've gazed into the piercing southern starscape of Zimbabwe, swam in the Indian Ocean in Kenya (on my birthday, no less), and tracked cheetahs in Botswana. I've boated through the canals of Bangkok, burned my feet on the white-hot marble of the Taj Mahal, and eaten Korean food in downtown Seoul. I've explored the ruins of Ephesus, hiked to a castle overlooking the Black Sea, and jumped over the trenches of Gallipoli. All that, not to mention climbing the dome of St. Peter's Basilica, seeing the Queen's dollhouse at Windsor, taking a nap by the Seine, and seeing the Sahara Desert, the Alps, Big Ben, and the Vatican all in one day.

But I have very few pictures of all of that. The seed was planted in college. I had a professor who talked alot about our generation's obsession with capturing life on film--whether it be video or photographs. He lamented the fact that we forego enjoying life in favor of taking pictures of it. We don't live it because we're so concerned we're going to miss it--and then we miss it because we're looking at it through a lens. He made alot of sense to me. And I stopped taking pictures almost entirely. Then John Mayer came along and said it again, stifling any desire to record my life for fear I wouldn't live it. Here's what he said:

I'm writing you to catch you up on places I've been and you have this letter, probably got excited but there's nothing else inside it. Didn't have a camera by my side this time. Hoping I would see the world through both my eyes. Maybe I will tell you all about it when I'm in the mood to lose my way with words. Today, clouds are painted colors in the cowboy cliche. And strange, how clouds that look like mountains in the sky are next to mountains anyway. Didn't have a camera by my side this time. Hoping I would see the world through both my eyes. Maybe I will tell you all about it when I'm in the mood to lose my way but let me say you should have seen that sunrise with your own eyes. It brought me back to life. You'll be with me next time I go outside. No more 3x5's. Today I finally overcame trying to fit the world inside a picture frame. Maybe I will tell you all about it when I'm in the mood to lose my way...

(And, yes, that was from memory.)

So now I'm faced with a quandary. I'm not a picture taker, and it's John Mayer's fault. I want to see the world with both my eyes. And I have. But now I'm going to Uganda. And I'm going to Uganda not to live my own life, but to live the lives of the orphans there. My purpose is not only to go and enjoy them and have new experiences, but to go and enjoy them and cause you to enjoy them too. To cause you to see them for who they really are, so that you fall in love with them the same way I fall in love with them, so that you will see them as children who need hope, and love, and opportunities to be who they long to be--just like any other child.

To do that, I have to, for one month, stifle the John Mayer in my head, and look at their world through a lens, with a pen in my hand. That's the only way you can come with me, and I desperately need you there. Your going to Uganda with me is a large part of the reason I go. I will take pictures and video not because I want to capture the events of my own life, but because I must capture the reality of theirs. You may never see them otherwise. And until you go to them yourself, I will have to try and fit their world inside a picture frame...no matter what John Mayer says.

Oh, Glasgow!

Quiz time: What do bedbugs, yellow fever, Scotland, and Chris Thile have in common? I'll give you a moment to ponder while I wax eloquent about my love/don't-always-love relationship with this thing we call sanctification (also known as that occasionally grueling onslaught of divinely-doled-out life lessons designed to make Christ-followers more like Christ).

I think I've already established the fact that I'm a total nerd, so I'm sure it won't surprise anyone that sometimes, when my mind is idle, I kind of lazily flip through my mental dictionary and put words in little families. Not just random families, mind you. Oh no, I put them right where they belong. For instance, magnify goes with magnanimous and magnitude. They're all about things being big. And chronology goes with chronic and chronicle...all having to do with time in one way or another. And just now the word sanctification just flitted through my head and its little "sanct" family followed right along behind--sanctity, sanctify, sanctuary. And then it hit me! Sanctification and sanctuary! Hold your horses!

No, seriously, hold them, because I have to give you some background before I unleash this epiphany on you.

The last few weeks have been pretty rotten. Things keep going wrong. Oh nothing major, just those little irritations of life that, taken one at a time, are just a part of being human, but which, when they all flood in on you in rapid succession make you want to tear your hair out and curse the day you were born. Melodrama aside, the last few weeks have been difficult. Things in my apartment keep falling apart, and there are roommate issues, and bugs, and a few emotional blows here and there. Now, I have recently emerged from a particularly "productive" period of sanctification (read: my own personal hell on earth), and the result has been a deeper intimacy with God as well as finally discovering joy, and more recently hope, that doesn't depend on circumstances--which is a good thing since the circumstances of my life don't exactly look like I thought they would at this point.

So in the last couple of weeks, this person (me) who is joyful and full of hope in Christ, and who honestly believes that everything I face is filtered through the loving hands of my Father, has encountered what, in polite company, I call disappointments, frustrations, and difficulties--but which in my head I call (in a thick Glaswegian accent, of course) TOTAL CRAP. And how does this trusting Christ-follower deal with the aforementioned total crap? She, like a good little girl, continues to trust that it is all part of the plan and that as long as she keeps trusting and keeps obeying what she knows to do, all will be well. Yada, yada, and yada.

The problem with that approach, I discovered, after feeling inexplicably crappy for a couple of weeks even though I was trusting and obeying, is that while hope and joy are by definition immune to circumstances, the intellectual steadfastness they produce doesn't and shouldn't translate to the emotional stoicism I found myself trying to maintain. In other words, the fact that my brain understands that the difficulties are part of the plan doesn't mean my emotional side is capable of staring them in the face without feeling something. My mind was saying, "It's all gonna be fine," which is true, and my emotions were trying to say, "Yeah, I agree," but what they really wanted to say was, in the words of the famously eloquent Samir Nagheenanajar of "Office Space" fame, "This...is...a...suck!" Unfortunately, even though that's how my emotions were feeling, they didn't feel justified in saying so, because they knew, right along with my intellect, that things really were going to be fine. The problem is, my mind and my emotions weren't designed to respond to disappointments, frustrations, and difficulties in the same way. So when my emotions try for steadfastness through stoicism, they hamstring my trusting intellect, and the whole faith-horse ends up hobbling around in circles, fighting no battles, and not even giving the Hero a chance to get on. In short, an un-emotional, stoic faith is an impotent faith.

That's where the relationship between sanctification and sanctuary comes in. When I was younger, like, last year, disappointments, frustrations, and difficulties would have likely resulted in a demonstrative and probably fairly soggy pity party. But "sanctification" and "fairly-soggy-pity-party" are not in a word family together. Becoming more like Christ is, in fact, mutually exclusive with pity parties. "Sanctification" and "sanctuary" are part of the same family because they are a part of the same process.

When the hunchback, Quasimodo, looked out over the courtyard of Notre Dame to see a mob of angry Frenchmen rushing toward the church, hearts full of blood-lust, he frantically cried out "Sanctuary! Sanctuary!" He sought refuge in the church and refused to leave until the courtyard was quiet and safe.

Part of sanctification is learning to cry "sanctuary!" in the face of the total crap rushing toward my own church doors. It is acknowledging the difficulties, trusting that all will be well, hiking up my emotional petticoats, and running full-gallop into the refuge of God's unwavering goodness. Outside in the courtyard, I can trust that the Hero, sword flashing, is cutting down the bloodthirsty hordes and, oh, by the way, helping my steadfast, trusting intellect to use its sword too. Meanwhile, inside the door, my emotions should be turning all that freak-out energy into prayer, into a passionate cry for relief and victory over the mobs outside. The intellect was built to fight with the Truth; the emotions were crafted to fight with fervent, relentless prayer.
So the next time (don't forget to use the accent) TOTAL CRAP breaks loose in my courtyard, I'm going to let the different parts of me fight the way they were designed to fight. I will trust in the goodness of my God and His plan, and my intellect will not waver. And I will take the frustration and the irritation and that feeling that I'm drowning slowly from the inside out, and instead of having a pity-party on the one hand or attempting not to feel anything at all on the other hand, I'm gonna cry "sanctuary" and run with all my might to my Father's feet and turn it all into prayer. ...and maybe next time it won't take me weeks to get there.

***

And now back to the brain-busting riddle that I'm sure you've already forgotten about. What do bed bugs, yellow fever, Scotland, and Chris Thile have in common? They were all a part of my life this week! Bed bugs: one of the difficulties/frustrations I had in the last few weeks were bed bugs. We had a big problem with them, but I think they might be gone now due to copious amounts of bed bug spray, a little Vaseline, and strict adherence Mad-Eye Moody's call for "Constant Vigilance." Yellow fever: I was able to get my vaccinations for Uganda this week. It turned out that I only needed one shot and one set of pills, so the vaccinations were alot cheaper than I had planned for! Yay!

Scotland needs its own paragraph. I think I will save the Scotland ramble for another post, but suffice it to say, the Lord has spoken. He said, "Woman, you need a vacation." Far be it from me to deny Him, so I'm going to Scotland. Thanks to some very generous friends and family, I was able to buy my plane ticket to Uganda this week. I had planned on the ticket being a certain amount, and had already decided that I wanted to take a couple of days' layover in England (for reasons I'm sure I'll share at some point or another), so I planned to spend a little extra of my own money and stop over for a quick vay-cay. But lo and behold, when I booked the ticket, staying over in England actually made it a couple hundred dollars CHEAPER than it would have been had I taken a straight flight!! So I'm going up to Scotland, the land of fairy tales and men in skirts. What more could a girl ask for?

And finally Chris Thile. If you don't know who Chris Thile is, I truly hurt for you. Look him up. Former member of Nickel Creek--best band ever--current member of Punch Brothers. Mandolin virtuoso, musical genius, tortured lyricist. And I got to see him live for free this week. Seeing Chris Thile live is like drinking a warm cup of Earl Gray on a porch swing on a rainy day, wrapped up in a blanket, listening to distant thunder, dreaming of secret gardens and country lanes filled with honeysuckle. In other words, I'd highly recommend it. If you'd like an exclusive Amanda-recommended playlist, let me know.

And those are the haps. Long? yes. Informative? absolutely. Life-altering? I guess we'll know the next time total crap breaks loose!

Us, Ourselves, and We

In the spirit of relieving you from all the alien talk, I'd like to fill you in on the book situation--the reason I started blogging in the first place. I'm going to Uganda for a month in about six weeks to do research for a book I'd like to write highlighting the lives of the orphans there. The following is adapted from my project proposal:

All too often, when we think of Africa, images of half-naked, fly-covered, big-bellied children immediately flash across our minds. In the last several decades, we have been covered over with pleas for aid and money and prayers. We look at these children and wonder what will become of them. We feel sad for them, and we despair of them, and we turn away. We're not hard-hearted ethno-centric monsters. On the contrary, I believe we desire to help these children, but the task is so enormous and the need is so great and the problem so very distant that we don’t know where to begin, so we never begin.

The images with which we’ve been bombarded for so long have, in many cases, served the opposite purpose than that for which they were intended. They meant to show us suffering at its most shocking, at its most bleak, so that we would be compelled to act on behalf of those who suffer. What they have instead accomplished on the whole is the widening of the already great chasm between Us and Them. We are snug in our homes with our healthy and happy loved ones gathered around us. They are cold and alone and in great need. The chasm has widened so much that we don’t even have a point of reference from which to relate to these widows and orphans thousands of miles and three worlds away. We have labored under the guilt of not helping the poor and neglected of the world for years and years, but we have failed to discover the key that will prompt us to action.

I believe that the key is a change in our perspective. We must see the world's needy in a different, more accurate light. As long as We see the hopeless and needy across the chasm as Them, as Other, We will not be moved to action. It's not in our nature to help the Other. But if We can begin to understand the truth of the matter, which is that They are not Other at all, but simply another part of Us, we will take the suffering that our little brothers and sisters on the other side of the world face and will make it our own.

How do we, then, begin to make the shift from seeing them as Them to seeing them as Us? We take a look at their whole lives. We don't see them just as orphans. We don't look at the flies and the disease and the lack alone. We look at them as people—as musicians, as scientists, as gigglers and dancers. We add to the images of their tears images of their infectious laughter. We see them from the inside out. But we don’t forget the outside. We take the whole person—hardships and triumphs, fears and joys, need and abundance, and we see that we are not all that different after all. We will see that the chasm that separates us is man made—and that it can be not only spanned, but eliminated altogether.

I have been fascinated in recent years by the genre that Barnes and Noble has called the “Travel Essay.” These are not the Lonely Planet travel guides you see in the back pocket of wannabe explorers all over the world. The travel essay is a mix between a memoir, a history, a journalistic narrative, and an ethnography. It is the story of a place told through the eyes of its people, and the story of a people revealed through their place. For some of my favorite examples of travel essays, see “An Unexpected Light” by Jason Elliot, and “Dark Star Safari” by Paul Theroux.

My goal is to spend my time in Uganda interviewing key orphans and doing life with them over the course of four weeks, learning about their lives and gathering research. I will also read several books on the history and politics of Uganda as well as other travel essays. My plan will then be to come back to New York and spend several months to a year writing a manuscript that will offer a picture of Uganda’s orphans which we have not yet seen. I will show how the history and politics of that part of the world have shaped the lives of the orphans and how the orphans have shaped the politics and history of Uganda.

The aim of the book is twofold: to offer a new voice to the orphans of Uganda as I tell their stories, and to inspire the church and the Western world at large to act on their behalf. In the end, I hope to show that acting on behalf of the poor and needy of the world is indeed nothing more than loving our neighbors as we love Ourselves.

Sidekick (or, Raxacoricofallapatorius, Part II)

Adventure. Peril. Derring-do. These are what Raxacoricofallapatorius has to do with it. In the spirit of embracing my identity--the identity I was born with, and the one I should be living out day to day--I hope to spend the next few weeks examining it and showing you, and me, how who I am on a practical, day to day level, has been molded around who I am at my most fundamental level...who I was created to be.

Raxacoricofallapatorius is unmistakable evidence that I was made to have epic adventures. I enjoy science fiction because I can lose myself in the world of mysterious planets and undiscovered species; I can become part of the story. One minute, I'm Princess Leia (who else?) holding on for dear life in the cockpit of the Milennium Falcon as Han Solo navigates an asteroid field at the speed of light. The next minute, I'm Dana Scully, running down shape-shifting aliens and battling government conspiracies. The next, I am Rose Tyler, shop girl, and I'm suddenly and quite unexpectedly being chased by mannequins who have suddenly and quite unexpectedly come to life, when this magnificent, if somewhat quirky, man who simply calls himself The Doctor, grabs my hand and saves my life (and the universe, for that matter), for the first of many, many times. And if that wasn't enough, he invites me into his spaceship and off we go traveling through space and time, saving the universe together from the likes of the Cybermen, the Daleks, and of course, the Slitheen of Raxacoricofallapatorius.

But it isn't just science fiction that feeds my appetite for adventure. I love quests and peril, I love the intrepid warrior, and most of all, I love the everyman who is unwittingly thrust into his own moment of greatness. The great epic adventures of our time are filled with unlikely heroes. Take Harry Potter, for instance. The poor kid was orphaned and almost killed as a baby. He had to grow up in a cupboard under the stairs in a home where he was unloved, neglected, and treated like a slave. Every parental figure he ever had was violently murdered--most of them right before his eyes. He was hated by half his school, denounced by the government and the press on several occasions, and forced to fight for his own life at least once a year. Needless to say, old Harry had it a little rough, but in the end, (spoiler alert) he rid the world of its greatest danger and restored peace to the lives of the people he loved.

Or take The Chronicles of Narnia. They tell the story of the Pevensies: four ordinary school children who stumble quite unwittingly into an unfamiliar and strange land full of evil and political corruption and who rise to stand on the side of good, defeating the forces of evil, and become kings and queens in the newly liberated Narnia, ruling justly and indeed being remembered as the architects of Narnia's Golden Age.

And, of course, The Lord of the Rings tells the story of the most unlikely hero of all--a tiny, nature-loving, meek Hobbit named Frodo Baggins who trudges across a continent on his stumpy little Hobbit legs, enduring battles and poisonous wounds, fording rivers and sleeping in the rocky wilderness, all the while being hunted by terrible creatures, fearing for his life at every turn, and moment by moment becoming more and more enslaved to the very evil he has gone on his quest to destroy. But destroy it he does, and becomes a legend in the process.

I love these stories because somewhere, deep down, I sense that I was made for that kind of adventure. And the truth is, I was. We all were. Adventure is part of our God-given identity. We are the unlikely heroes. We are the plucky sidekicks. As a human being bound to the earth and its immediate environs, I can't jump into The Doctor's time-and-space machine, as much as I'd like to, and see the universe one planet at a time. I can't save the world with a flick of my wand or jump through my grandmother's closet into a mysterious land of talking animals and evil witches. But that's ok. Because these stories are just a reflection, a hint, of the real adventure. And the real adventure is full of unlikely heroes and epic battles between good and evil. There is a valiant Hero on a white horse and there are plenty of damsels in distress. There is sacrifice and sorrow, and ultimately redemption and salvation and happily-ever-after.

That's the adventure I was made for. I have been designed for mystery and intrigue and for happily-ever-after. God made me to be a part of His story, Jesus secured my role as both sidekick and unlikely hero, and the Holy Spirit shows me the plot day after day and tells me where to stand to get the most action.

Raxacoricofallapatorius reminds me that I have an adventure of my own--a quest filled with peril and mystery, not to mention quite a spectacular love story. And with this adventure, I don't have to imagine I'm someone else. I am the sidekick, the unlikely hero. I have no idea what tomorrow holds, what battles I will fight, what mountains I will climb, or which alien species I'll have to face (my preference is Time Lord). But I know that there will be a happy ending, and that makes it all worth it.

Raxacoricofallapatorius

Raxacoricofallapatorius. Makes me giggle every time. Go ahead and say it a few times. After awhile, it begins to roll quite freely off the tongue, really. It is possibly my favorite word to say, and it is the key to a part of me that I've only recently decided to embrace. I AM A SCI-FI NERD!!

For those of you who don't know, Raxacoricofallapatorius is the home planet of the Slitheen family, featured in a couple of episodes of arguably the best television show in the world, and inarguably (meaning, I absolutely refuse to hear any argument to the contrary) the best television show in Britain, Doctor Who. The Slitheen family enjoys sucking out people's insides and using their outsides as disguises for the purpose of penetrating such governmental strongholds as 10 Downing Street in the always-vain effort to destroy/enslave the inhabitants of earth/the universe typical of the hostile/misunderstood alien races against whom The Doctor and his varying plucky sidekicks often find themselves pitted from week to week.

I doubt that any of you is surprised that I'm a sci-fi nerd. I'm not very cool to begin with. I mean, my dad is a sci-fi nerd, so I didn't really have a chance! I grew up immersed in Star Wars, Star Trek--the original and The Next Generation--and the old Doctor Who, long before the Slitheen ever descended from, say it with me, Raxacoricofallapatorius. (That WAS fun, wasn't it!) I suppose I could have overcome the whole sci-fi thing if I had really wanted to. But I didn't. And I've realized recently that there's a very good reason for that...but we'll save that one for later.

I admit I've been a little less than prompt in writing this second post. It isn't for lack of trying. I have several half-finished posts sitting in my account, languishing in word purgatory, just hoping I'll finish them off and send them out into the world. It seems that every time I started a blog, I realized I either had too much to say or nothing significant to say, and so I would just put it away and try another day. And then last night, something dawned on me. I was having a blogging identity crisis! The problem wasn't so much with what I wanted to say as with who I wanted to be. Tossing oneself into the blogosphere, right out in the open like this, forces one to begin defining things. And I just wasn't sure which me to be.

Then I was sitting in church last night and my pastor said something that clicked in my head. He said that in our culture, we look to build our identity, to create it, from the things that we do or have or achieve, or from the way we look or our skills, etc. But that's insane! (His words.) Yeah, insane! (Mine.) It's backwards! Because my identity is already defined for me. God has told me who I am right there in the Bible. The challenge is not creating an identity, but living out the one I already have! I keep trying to do it backwards by taking what's outside myself or what's in the future and molding myself so that those things become my identity, when it would be so much easier to do it the way I'm supposed to and just embrace who I am already according to the One who made me in the first place and let the things that are outside me and in the future mold themselves around that truer identity. To quote my 12-year-old self, "Duh!" Man, it's tiring being an idiot. Maybe that's why I'm exhausted all the time.

So what does, together now, Raxacoricofallapatorius have to do with it all? Well, I think I'll tell you tomorrow, because there's alot more to this story and our attention spans just aren't what they used to be. So practice saying Raxacoricofallapatorius (see, it's getting easier) real hard, and as a treat tomorrow I might even tell you about the Shadow Proclamation, the Medusa Cascade, and the skies of Gallifrey--before the great Time War against Davros and the Daleks, that is.

Life, the Universe, and Everything

I suppose there comes a time in every technically-not-yet-but-doggone-it-I'm-gonna-give-it-the-old-Harvard-try writer's life when she has to bite the proverbial bullet, lay down the pen and paper, and leap for the back steps of the quickly retreating techno-train before it leaves her eating gravel and shaking the dust of bygone days out of her split ends. The all aboard has sounded, calling me to leave my notebook-toting, .doc-bound ways, and summoning me on to that magical land called the Blogosphere.

It is with reluctance that I leave my happy home. My writing is tucked safely away in its folder, buried in the Documents file in my Finder. It sits there, content, unjudged, basking in the bliss of existing for existence's sake, lazily dreaming of someday making its debut in a memoir or obituary.

But the future is calling, and far be it from me to miss the train entirely. So I'm becoming a blogger. I'm shaking off the cozy blanket of anonymity, doing my happy dance for good measure, and joining the conversation.

The blog idea has been percolating for quite some time, but now that I'm ready to finally take the leap to becoming a published writer, I thought it might just be the kind of journey to share with a few friends. So this is me saying, "Hey Non-Descript Human! I like you! Wanna come with me while I write this book?"

That's right, after years of dreaming (read: procrastinating) I'm going to write a book, and I would love for you to join me. It promises to be an adventure...you know, masked men on horses, gravity-defying leaps between skyscrapers, and general swashbuckling. The usual.

So come along. I can't promise it will be pretty, and I'm sure it won't be easy, but it will be real. And as terrifying as that feels right now, the green pastures of the Blogosphere are calling to me, and I can't help but hop the train.