Shaking Hands With a Killer

{{Passing the equator on the way to Rwanda!
(I'm the baby. :)) }}

Greetings, faithful readers! It’s been awhile since my last post because life has been a complete whirlwind for me over the past few months. Since my return from Uganda at the beginning of May, I have been visiting friends and family in Florida, Illinois, and New York (<< where my big brother just got married!! Holla!), and I also spent a couple of weeks in the Middle East. (Stay tuned for a post on my experience there a little later on!) Needless to say, the rhythm of my life has been a little abnormal as of late…but I’m not complaining, because God’s faithfulness to me has been so abundantly evident through it all! Before I get too much into my post-Uganda life, however, I still have some experiences and insights I’d like to share with you from my time there, beginning with my end-of-the-semester excursion to Rwanda. So sit back (trust me, you’re going to want to be sitting for this one!!), relax, and read on for a tale of incomparable power and incredible hope!

Just over twenty years ago, a very ugly thing – genocide – took place in a very beautiful country – Rwanda, the “land of a thousand hills.” Equally as dazzling as the country’s sweeping landscapes are the Rwandese people, who proudly claim that although God traverses the world by day, He rests in Rwanda at night. With such a strong national pride, it is hard to imagine how Rwanda ever got torn apart as badly as it did in 1994, when 800,000 Rwandans were killed in 100 days…by other Rwandans. For those of you who are unfamiliar with this historical event or with the term, “genocide,” let me give you a little crash course.

Dictionary.com defines genocide as “the deliberate and systematic extermination of a national, racial, political, or cultural group.” In other words, genocide occurs when a particular group of human beings goes extinct because another group of human beings doesn't like something about them. Though a classic example of genocide is the Holocaust, there have been several other genocides throughout history, including the Bosnian genocide, the Armenian genocide, and our very own Native American genocide (because studies show that genocide is definitely the best way to kick-off a new country…). The tools of genocide range from guns and gas chambers to deprivation and disease, but the one thing that all genocides have in common is that they happen on purpose. A genocide must have a specific blueprint for kill in order to be considered a genocide, and not merely a massacre.

{{The rolling hills of Rwanda!}}

In the case of the Rwandan genocide, the target victims were an ethnic group called Tutsis, and the perpetrators were an ethnic group called Hutus. These two people groups make up the vast majority of the population of Rwanda, and tensions between them had been rising for many years leading up to the 1994 genocide. Basically, when Belgium colonized Rwanda after the First World War, they utilized the Tutsis, who were the slightly wealthier minority at the time, to help them rule. However, just before Rwanda gained its independence from Belgium in 1961, the power structure was flipped, and the Belgians put the majority Hutus in charge. Some time after that, Hutu extremists formed a political party, “Hutu Power,” and began to campaign an ideology of revenge for the many years that the Tutsis had been elevated above them. They used public radio to brainwash ordinary Hutu citizens into believing that Tutsis were “cockroaches” that needed to be “exterminated.” The extremists capitalized on fear tactics, often convincing Hutus that the Tutsis were plotting their own schemes to kill, making it seem necessary for Hutus to kill first.

After having laid a solid foundation for the genocide with such propaganda, the extremists began training and equipping Hutu citizens with machetes, clubs, and other blunt murder weapons with the goal of causing Tutsis to suffer as much pain as possible before drawing their final breaths. Upon the anonymous shoot-down of a plane carrying the presidents of both Rwanda and Burundi on the night of April 6^th, 1994, Hutu Power gave the green light to kill. Literally overnight, neighbors turned against neighbors, even brothers against brothers in some cases, and worst of all…Christians against Christians. Women were raped (systematically by HIV-positive men, no less), babies were smashed to death against walls, men were buried alive in pit latrines, and the horrifying list goes on and on. It turned out to be perhaps the most intimate genocide in history, which is what makes it so incredibly disturbing. Can you even imagine how anyone could do such terrible things to people whom they had grown up alongside and loved?

I couldn't, and my first response to it all was anger. Where have all the educated people gone? How does a person go from soundness of mind one day to hacking their neighbor with a machete the next? Why was the voice of public radio stronger that the voice of God’s spirit within these people? These are some of the questions that ran through my head and made my blood boil as we visited genocide memorials on Good Friday. (Talk about a double whammy!!) In addition to it being Easter Week, the timing of our trip to Rwanda was very significant also because April is the annual, official “month of mourning,” and because 2014 marks the 20^th year anniversary of the genocide. So, I was definitely grateful to be there at such a poignant time, but what I saw, learned, and experienced put me on edge and my emotions ran high.

{{My friend Henry giving my infamous
sparkle bow a try! I almost traded it for
his strawberry tie. ;) }}

Particularly distressing was our visit to Nyamata, a church where 10,000 refuge-seeking Tutsis and moderate Hutus were slaughtered before each other’s eyes. After the genocide, the decision was made to leave the church “as-is” in order to memorialize the site. Therefore, twenty years later, there are still bullet holes in the ceiling and blood stains on the wall, and all of the victims’ soiled, tattered clothes are piled up on the pews as far as the eye can see. Outside of the sanctuary there is a mass grave with an equally vast and nightmarish display of human skulls, accompanied by the most deafening silence I have ever heard.

Now, had visiting memorial sites been the entirety of our purpose in Rwanda, I would have left with nothing but fury in my heart. I still cannot begin to reflect on the genocide without immediately feeling a sense of righteous indignation and just plain sorrow for the injustices suffered by innocent people there. But because of the next thing that happened on our trip, there is something else that I now feel just as intensely when I think about Rwanda: HOPE.

At about the halfway point of our time there, we visited a place called a “reconciliation village.” In this village, perpetrators of the genocide and victim survivors are VOLUNTARILY living side-by-side, and the perpetrators are working to build new homes for the survivors!!! (Go ahead, read that one again!) The scene we arrived upon was a small clearing between a couple of houses in which three or four rows of benches were set up. Each bench was inhabited by a graceful, colorful wave of Rwandese people, who smiles were subtle, but sure.

After offering a warm greeting, the first thing our translator explained to us was that the Rwandans were sitting killer-victim-killer-victim-killer-victim, side by side by side...Now, after processing that astonishing information, we all could have walked away right then with a surplus of praise to God in our hearts because of such a truly miraculous sight! But this captivating tale of hope and redemption didn’t stop there, so we listened on as one brave woman stood up to share her heart.

Like so many other women genocide survivors, this woman’s story was one of great terror and loss. During the genocide, she was forced to flee her home, her husband was murdered, and she lost all of her children. My heart ached for her as she explained all of this to us, somehow still managing to keep her head held high. Just when she was finishing, right as she sat down, the translator pointed out the man who had murdered her family – he was sitting just one row behind her. The woman glanced back at him, turned back to us and spoke the four most powerful words I think I’ve ever heard in my life: “But I forgive him.”

{{Funny Rwandan currency...the kids
on laptops crack me up!!}}

Then, a different man stood up and began to share about how the genocide had affected him. This man was a perpetrator who had previously been imprisoned for his crimes. He explained that during his time in prison, he came to his senses and realized just how much he had been brainwashed, and he felt absolutely terrible for what he had done. In fact, he expressed that he wanted to die because of his sins, that he felt there was no grace left for him. “But praise God,” he concluded, “because these people have forgiven me and I have a place in this village today.”

Wow.

I’m telling you, that was the most radical Christlike thing I have ever experienced in my entire life, and I don’t think I will ever forget it…ever!

In that moment, I realized that my understanding of forgiveness is far less transformative than God’s. For my whole life, I have believed that forgiveness means: “I’m not mad at you anymore, but we don’t have to be friends.” I thought that as long as I spoke those three standard words – “I forgive you” – then, my conscious was clear before God. No further effort to salvage a relationship or a situation necessary. But what Rwanda taught me is that forgiveness is merely the key which opens the door to reconciliation, and reconciliation is what God truly desires. To see people – His creations – persevering in relationship with one another, extending grace for each other’s flaws, seeking restoration where there is brokenness – THAT is God’s heart! Scripture says this:

“But love your enemies, do good to them, and lend to them without expecting to get anything back. Then your reward will be great, and you will be children of the Most High, because he is kind to the ungrateful and wicked.” –Luke 6:35

You see, Jesus didn't come to earth to high-five saints, He came to transform sinners – the ungrateful, the wicked, the proud, the competitive, the jealous, the deceptive, the irritable, the stubborn, the lazy, the judgmental, the broken. We all fit into one of those categories or another (and if you feel like you don’t, please reconsider the third one listed…), and we are all in need of grace from God and grace from each other. Love for our enemies is the kind of mind-blowing, earth-shaking, life-changing love that characterizes Jesus and should also characterize His followers. It’s the kind of love I witnessed in Rwanda, and the kind of love I want to pursue in my own life here in America.

{{An artisan hard at work!}}

Before we left the reconciliation village that afternoon, we went up and thanked each of the Rwandese people for allowing us to visit them and for sharing their stories. I remember looking into one man’s eyes as I thanked him and thinking to myself, “Whoa, I am shaking hands with a killer right now.” Even more mystifying than that realization, however, is the truth that by the grace of God, that man’s crimes no longer define him, and transformation is possible for even the most distressed of hearts and circumstances.

At this point (if you've made it this far…), I encourage you to take a moment and reflect on any relationships or situations in your own life that are in need of reconciliation. Perhaps you don’t need to shake hands with a killer, but what about a gossiper? A heartbreaker? A manipulator? A thief? As you begin to come to terms with whatever hurt you are holding onto, I want to encourage you in three ways:

1) Let it go. (No, that was not a Frozen reference, but you can keep singing if it makes you feel better...) Something the members of the reconciliation village are taught is that holding a grudge is like carrying around a backpack full of bricks, which weighs you down wherever you go. But as soon as you choose to forgive, you toss that backpack off of your shoulders and your whole journey lightens up. Withholding forgiveness often causes more pain for the victim than for the offender, so use the power that is in your hands to your own advantage!

2) Empathize. I realize that this is a lot easier said than done, but we have to recognize that at some point we are each the victim sitting next to the killer, and at some point we are each the killer sitting next to the victim. You don’t have to be Rwandan to be capable of genocide. As a wise Rwandan pastor explained to us, “human nature is a mixture of the angelic and the demonic,” and sometimes, unfortunately, the latter gets the best of us all. So in our efforts to reconcile, let us not forget that victims and offenders have humanity in common.

{{Some fellow PRENT-ers - Gilbert, Ivan,
and Jeff. :) Dressed to impress for our
end-of-the-semester talent show!!}}

3) Persevere. Forgiveness may be a one-time event, but reconciliation is an ongoing choice. It may take 20 years for us to be able to forgive and reconcile with someone, as it did for these Rwandans, but we will never arrive if we never set foot on the journey in the first place. So let us take intentional steps, baby as they may be, towards the kind of restoration that is possible with God on our side. Embrace the process!

Obviously this is not a step-by-step manual on reconciliation. Only you know what specifically needs to be done in your circumstance to make things right. But I hope that these suggestions help to at least get your gears turning, and to inspire you to take the power of reconciliation into your own hands. May your load be lighter because of it!

Until next time, be good to yourself and be good to everybody else!

Thanks for caring,

Kelsey Jo

Two Are Better Than One

{{My USP friend, Stephanie, and me!}}

This week, I got called something that I do not remember having ever been called before: STUBBORN. Not once, not twice, but THREE times in one week did I hear, “Kelsey, you are so stubborn!” The first time, I brushed it off and thought to myself: “Stubborn? Hah, this person obviously doesn’t know the real me.” The second time I thought: “Weird…this person must be in cahoots with the last one who called me stubborn!” But by the third time, I finally got off my high horse and cried: “KITEGEEZA KI?!?” (That’s Luganda for “what does that mean?!?”). According to my friend, Webster, the word “stubborn” means: “refusing to change your ideas or to stop doing something; difficult to handle.” Hmm. Now, I can see how someone might think that I am stuck in my ways. I mean, it’s no secret that I do still wear Twinkle Toes, even though I am 21 (hey, do what Uganda do!) But difficult to handle? Me? I just don’t know where anyone would get such a crazy idea! I mean, it’s not like I have a flair for the dramatic or anything like that…0_o

Alright, so maybe I am a bit more stubborn than I care to admit. (Emphasis on maybe.) But after that was pointed out to me here, I still wasn’t convinced that my critics meant stubborn in the same way that Americans use the term. So I did a little investigating, and I discovered that here, the meaning of “stubborn” is more along the lines of bold or strong-willed. That’s not too far from Webster’s answer, but I’ll take being called “bold” over “difficult” any day of the week! (By the way, one of the times I got called stubborn was during chapel on campus this week. My fellow USP students and I were leading the worship songs, and all I did was spontaneously rap at the end of one of them…is it such a crime to tell everyone that if they love Jesus they should throw their hands in the air and wave them like they just don’t care?!)

In my book, boldness is a good thing. I mean, I’ve heard rumors that there are perks of being a wallflower, but I’d much rather be out on the dance floor! I think Ugandans would agree with me, but only if everyone else was out there, too (which is not uncommon here). In a highly communal culture like that of Uganda, blending in is valued much more than standing out (hipsters, beware!). This is not to say that there is no room for freedom of individual expression here, but it does mean that strong-willed personalities like mine are less common, and that those who possess them are considered quite stubborn. I can live with that though, because the benefits of being part of a communal culture far outweigh the damper that it sometimes puts on my sparkly bows (which I still wear here anyway…you know, since I’m so stubborn).

{{A little corner of Kampala, the capital city.}}

Outside of my host home, the place where I first appreciated the gift of Ugandan community was Professional Reach Enterprises (PRENT), the organization with which I have been interning this semester. PRENT is a community development organization whose mission is “to inspire, influence, and disciple women and youth for sustainable livelihoods in diverse communities.” Founded by UCU graduates just two years ago, PRENT is staffed by young volunteers like myself who share a vision of communities being transformed through “holistic empowerment and professional intervention.” In other words, PRENT believes in passing on professional skills from all fields to their neighbors (who perhaps would not otherwise have the opportunity to learn them) in order to help them find their footing in life. PRENT carries out their mission through several initiatives, including educational health campaigns, career guidance events, college ministry, and training in agriculture, business, and crafts-making. And they do it all in the name of Jesus!

On a professional level, I am grateful for the opportunity to work with PRENT this semester because of the chance it has given me to dip my toes in the waters of community development and to gain a better understanding of the dynamics of cross-cultural social work. But even more importantly, on a personal level, I am grateful for the opportunity to work with PRENT this semester because of the amazing people that make up the PRENT family – a family which I was warmly welcomed into from day one. When I arrived at my orientation, there were about 8 people crammed into PRENT’s 10 foot by 10 foot office, ready to greet me with smiles and hugs. It was a beautiful thing to have perfect strangers welcoming me – and genuinely, I might add – as if they had known me their entire lives! (By the end of the meeting, they had even given me a Luganda name so that I could really feel part of the group – Princess Namutebi!) During orientation, I got a crash course on “PRENT culture,” which includes “swallowship” (aka – sharing food), sweat equity (aka – everyone does their fair share!), and a whole lot of prayer and encouragement for one another – and I’ve been reveling in that culture ever since!

At PRENT, there are no bosses. We operate as a team in which I am my neighbor’s boss and he is mine. Everyone’s opinion is valued, and no one carries their burdens alone. And that’s a pretty good description of Ugandan culture in general! Unlike in the West, where individualism and efficiency run rampant, consensus and the well-being of the group are of much greater emphasis in Uganda. One of the implications of this is that it’s pretty acceptable to assume help from people here. In America, the recruitment of volunteers can be a whole long process (which sometimes involves bribing people with Mocha Cookie Crumble Frappuccinos...). Because of the tyranny of our schedules and social calendars, it can be difficult to get people to commit. But here in Uganda, you need only say the three magic words – “I need help” – and an entire army of Ugandan maamas is there to back you up!

{{The PRENT family! :) }}

During my time here, I’ve been on both the giving and receiving ends of life, and it has brought me so much joy to be a part of a community of people who so freely share. I’m not offended when I wake up on a Saturday morning and get told that I will be spending the next 5 hours sitting in the yard doing dishes for a church event (and getting the most ratchet sunburn of my life!!). Why? Because I know that when I get sick in the middle of night with food poisoning, someone will stay up with me for another 5 hours, making sure that I stay hydrated and don’t die. I’m not offended when my Ugandan girlfriend asks to have my earrings, because I know that every time I visit her dorm, I can expect to receive the gift of listening from the very ears they adorn (accompanied by a nice glass of homemade orange juice!) I’m not even offended when I get asked to help pay for something that’s not for me, because I know that I will be welcomed into any home here that’s not mine. (All real life examples!) Whether I’m in my host community, at PRENT, or on campus, it is truly an honor and a privilege to give and receive, to love and be loved in a Ugandan context.

I think that one of the reasons we rarely see this same unashamed give-and-take in American culture is that there is a stigma on the act of asking for help. While it’s perfectly acceptable to ask for help on behalf of others (aka – charity), asking for help for yourself is too often seen through the eyes of Uncle Sam as a sign of weakness, incompetency, and even laziness. I will be the first to admit that I have a hard time asking for help. I’ll gladly spend my days running around playing the hero for everyone else, but in my hour of need, I often refuse to acknowledge the tear in my cape. If any of you beloved readers can empathize with me on this issue, let me just take a moment to encourage us all that this is not the way things have to be!

In fact, this is not even the way things are supposed to be. In the true story of the creation of our world found in the beginning of the Bible, the Creator, after busting out some sparkly stars and creepy crawlies, finally creates the first ever human being. (And, after seeing that his hair turned out red, decided to name him Adam! ;) ) Adam was given the freedom to run around the Garden of Eden and the responsibility to take care of it, but the Creator realized that something still wasn’t quite right about the pinnacle of His creation. Assessing the scene, the Creator announced: “It is not good for man to be alone.” (Genesis 2:18) Did you hear that, folks? It is NOT GOOD for man to be alone! I always thought that the reason the Creator said this was simply because Eve was on the way, and He was giving Adam a fair warning. But it turns out that there’s a lot more to it than that. It’s not good for man (aka – PEOPLE) to be alone, because things are much harder that way! If one solitary person tries to hold the weight of the world on her shoulders, she will be crushed. But if each of us offers up a hand, the burden is lifted. Simple.

{{A placemat factory in my community that my mom's friend runs.
My kitchen table in the States just got African! :) }}

Experiencing this truth in Africa has had profound implications on my spiritual life. To give you an example, let’s talk about the role of devotions in the journey of a follower of Jesus. I’m gonna be honest…the phrase “quiet time” has always rubbed me the wrong way for two reasons: 1) It has the power to breed legalism and 2) I’m loud. Among Western Christian circles, “quiet time” refers to a chunk of time – preferably daily and usually for about an hour – in which a follower of Jesus finds a solitary place to read his Bible, pray, and perhaps record his thoughts in a journal. This is certainly a Biblical exercise, seeing as Jesus regularly retreated off into the mountains by Himself to clear His mind and chat with His dad. So please don’t get me wrong as you read on, thinking that I am condemning devotional time altogether.

But I do want to point out something that I have noticed in Uganda, which is that followers of Jesus here are not too concerned about “quiet time!” (And when I say “not too concerned,” I mean that I literally have never heard even one Ugandan utter the term.) Ugandans absolutely seek out God on a daily basis, as I have written about in previous posts, but they do it how? TOGETHER!!!!! At first, this was a hard cultural norm for me to jump into, because to a large extent, I have been trained to connect with God through individual, solitary “quiet time.” So in my first month or so here, I was frustrated that there didn’t seem to be a place for that in this culture. All I saw instead was everyone participating in fellowships at school or hanging out together on their porches, drinking tea and talking about the things of God.

So eventually, taking my observations into consideration, I decided to give the whole “community” thing a try. And ya know what? The truth of Solomon’s words has been deeply reiterated to me in the process:

“Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor: If either of them falls down, one can help the other up. But pity anyone who falls and has no one to help them up. Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm. But how can one keep warm alone? Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.” (Ecclesiastes 4:9-12)

{{Namutebi and the boys! They were my backup during chapel. ;) }}

Teamwork is a beautiful gift that I have rarely allowed myself the opportunity to receive, except in my closest friendships (for which I am E-T-E-R-N-A-L-L-Y grateful!!). But now, through my experiences with the various “teams” which I am a part of here in Uganda, I feel much more willing to ask for help, to be vulnerable, to see my needs for what they are, even as I seek to meet the needs of others. Who knows, perhaps a more communal mindset will even knock me down a few notches on the stubbornness scale (Although I can’t make any promises when it comes to leading worship…)

So, in conclusion, friends, EMBRACE COMMUNITY! You don’t have to journey through life on your own. You're not supposed to! God has designed this world in such a way that there is an Eve to every Adam out there, an Ashley to every Mary-Kate, a Bonnie to every Clyde. (Alright, maybe that last one wasn’t the best example…but you get the point.) My encouragement to you is to dig deeper into the communities that you are a part of at this time in your life, or to seek some out if you are feeling a little solo dolo. Remember: everyone has something to give, everyone has something to receive.

Thanks a lot for journeying this far with me on my Ugandan adventures! Can you believe I only have 3 weeks left of school?! Then I’m off to Rwanda for the rest of April! Wheee! Hope to talk to you before then. :)

Until next time, be good to yourself and be good to everybody else!

Thanks for caring,

Kelsey Jo

I'm Losing It! (And You Should, Too)

{{My rural Ugandan parents - Caro and Joseph!}}

Two weeks ago, I had the privilege of spending some time out in the rural Ugandan countryside. I stayed with a host family in the beautiful village of Kapchorwa, which is tucked in the mountains bordering Kenya. For one week, I learned how to do life the rural African way – and let me tell you, friends…it ain’t no cakewalk!! (UGH, cake sounds so good right now…) Out there, people do a lot of hard labor just to survive, and my 5-foot, 2-and-a-half-inch, muscles-the-size-of-dill-pickles self struggled to keep up. I tried everything my family asked of me, which included hand-washing laundry, fetching water from the well, pounding coffee, washing dishes with sand (<<what??), and digging in the fields, among other things. I wasn’t so successful with much of it, but hey, at least I provided endless entertainment for the baker’s dozen of village kids who always seemed to pop up JUST as I was failing at some basic task of rural Ugandan life – which they could do with their eyes closed at age 5. How convenient.

I gotta hand it to them though, those kids were cute (see picture below)! If you know me at all, you may have heard that kids are not my favorite subject. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love them once they turn into teens! But when they’re so little, they wear me right out. (Plus, did you know that babies have no kneecaps? Petrifying. Squishy and petrifying.) SO! You can imagine what a pleasant surprise it was for me to have the ENTIRE NEIGHBORHOOD of children over in my yard each night, wanting to touch my (fake) hair, learn songs in English (the best I could come up with was Old MacDonald…?), and laugh at me for not being able to peel matooke (kind of like plantains…only fiercer!) without nearly slicing my thumbs off. Wheeeeeee! BUT! After praying to the Lord for a little boost of patience, I managed to connect with them through a universal language – DANCE! They were sooo happy to learn muzungu moves, and they even taught me a few of their own. By the end of my week, I was sad to say goodbye to all of those little rascals. They stole my heart! But that’s okay…I think a little piece of my heart has always belonged out under the African stars. :) (The skies don’t get any clearer than in electricity-free Kapchorwa!)

{{A front-door view of our home. :) }}

As you can see, the house that I stayed in was a simple mud home with dirt floors and a tin roof – middle class, for rural Uganda. However, my host family is currently working on upgrading to a brick house, and they expect to be finished within 3 years. (They also expect that I will come back to see it!) As I mentioned above, we had no electricity, but dinner by flashlight was fine with me. :) The foods were about the same as in Mukono, except MORE. It is tradition in Ugandan hospitality to serve the guest twice as much as everyone else; and it’s considered rude if, as the guest, you refuse. So…I think I gained about 6 pounds out there! But at least everything was super fresh. Most rural Ugandans are subsistence farmers, so all their food comes from the work of their own hands. SWEET! My host mom asked me about how I get my food in America, and she was shocked to hear about Wal-Mart. My host sister was equally floored by the concept of washing machines. And my host dad chuckled at the fact that I go to Starbuck’s to get coffee when he makes his own from scratch (like a boss!).

Needless to say, I was a little embarrassed at times about the ease of my lifestyle in America. I wrestled with wondering whether or not I should feel guilty for having so much when others have so little. I was disturbed by the stark difference between the positive messages that I grew up on and the life motto of my host sister: “born to suffer.” (And I was even more disturbed by her never-ending supply of smiles and laughter, in spite of such a paradigm.) I mean, I can’t say that I was surprised by the nature of my new friends out in Kapchorwa. After all, Jesus doesn’t say “blessed are the poor” for nothing (Luke 6:20). Often times, it is the poorest people who have the deepest faith in God (and subsequent joy), because they have little more to cling to than Him.

{{The Little Rascals! (Ugandan version.) :) }}

Now, I’m not saying that poverty is a desirable state by Biblical standards. But I’m certainly not arguing that wealth is, either. After all, Jesus doesn’t say that “it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter the kingdom of God” for nothing (Matthew 19:24). And before we think that we are off the hook for being rich people because our names are not Donald Trump or Oprah, we must stop to consider the rest of the big blue world outside of America, in which 2.4 billion people are living (or perhaps I should say surviving) on less than $2 a day. It’s easy enough to brush off a statistic like that, but as one of my wise professors always says, behind every statistic is a face, and behind every face, a name. Like Joseph and Caro – my rural Ugandan parents. Or Minata, my sponsored child in Burkina Faso. Or Luis, my homeless friend in West Palm Beach. When we drop these names into statistics…suddenly it’s not so easy for us to brush the reality of poverty under the rug. And when we are unable to drop our own names into those same statistics…suddenly we become aware of the extent of our own wealth – even as “poor college kids,” drivers of beat-up cars, payers of mortgages, and consumers of Ramen noodles. The fact of the matter is, 21^st-century North Americans are among the wealthiest, most mobile people groups in history – and the question is, in what are we investing that privilege?

You see, the way you were designed from birth was no accident. Your family, your ethnicity, the place in which you grew up, the time period in which you are living, the opportunities which have been afforded to you, the resources available to you, the relationships that have developed in your life, and your natural abilities and interests – your total composition, as I like to call it – it’s all either a product or blessing of God. (Or, in the case of brokenness in any of those things, it’s a possibility for the redemption of God. But that’s a blog for another day. :) ) Now, in the American worldview, we are taught to believe that, if we put our minds to it, we can be anything that we want to be – that we can “create ourselves.” So there is a temptation for us to disagree with my previous statement and say that we have worked hard for the money, or the opportunity, or whatever else we see as our own doing – what’s God got to do with it? But I challenge us to stop and consider whether we could have achieved those same things had we been born in rural Uganda, or the streets of Guatemala, or the inner-city of Mumbai. In most cases, I’m guessing the answer would be no – which goes to show that God has placed our spirits inside 21^st-century North Americans for a reason. And let me tell you, it’s not just for our personal comfort and pleasure!

{{Carrying a jerrycan full of water on my head.
No biggie. ;) }}

Perhaps the phrase “blessed to be a blessing” is a little cliché, but it doesn’t make it any less true. Jesus calls us to GIVE – generously, freely, sacrificially. He gave His life to us, and in order to follow Him, we must also give our lives to others. “For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for [Jesus’] sake will find it.” (Matthew 16:25) As if the call to thank and honor the Giver of all things were not compelling enough, we also must consider our responsibility to His family. As Shane Claiborne discusses in his book, The Irresistible Revolution, as followers of Jesus, we are members of a family in which people are sick, homeless, hungry, and dying. I repeat – your brother is sick, your father is hungry, and your mother is dying of preventable disease, because with no job and five mouths to feed, she can’t afford a simple malaria treatment. (By the way, did I mention that my little sister is working 12-hour shifts in a sweatshop for less than 25 cents an hour, just so that I can have some cool wrappings?)

As rich Americans, we can afford many things – but ignoring these realities is not one of them.

Even if you are not a follower of Jesus, I think you can agree with me that something is jacked up with the world when just about 19,000 kids die every day of starvation, and I’m over here ordering Domino’s at midnight because the 3 square meals I already ate today weren’t quite enough. Now, please don’t get me wrong. I’m not trying to make anyone feel guilty for being American or ordering Domino’s, because neither of those things is inherently sinful. But what I am trying to do is get our gears turning about how we might be able to give to others out of our abundance as Americans. I can encourage you from my experience here in Africa that it is, in fact, quite possible to “live on less.” What I mean by that is not every single thing that we own is essential, and we don’t necessarily need 5 of everything that is. As much as it shocks me to say, I am managing just fine over here without my singing Justin Beaver stuffed animal and only 2 pairs of jeans!! So I challenge you to take an inventory of your stuff – the clothes in your closet, the food in your pantry, the toys in the boxes in your basement, the rooms in your home, and the money in your bank – and see what you can do to lighten your load for the benefit of others. This is something that I personally plan to do when I get back!

{{Beautiful Kapchorwa!}}

Of course, to whom you give is just as important as what you give. If you know names behind faces behind statistics, I encourage you to start there. Giving is always more meaningful when you understand the specifics of the need. But if you do not yet have relationships with the poor, don’t let that stop you from giving! I know that skepticism about whether or not your gifts are actually making a difference or are being used in the way you intend them to can keep a lot of people from giving, so feel free to take time to do some research first (just not too much time :) ). Determine which cause you are most passionate about, find a reputable charity that relates, and go for the gold!

While we’re on the subject, I want to put in a plug for child sponsorship. (This is a great way to get to know faces and names!) Child sponsorship works like this: you donate a certain amount of money each month, and a child’s life is transformed forever. The money is used for things like food, education, and healthcare – the bare necessities. I was a firm believer in child sponsorship before coming to Uganda, as I have been sponsoring a little girl in Burkina Faso for a couple of years. But now, I am even more passionate about the cause, because I have seen its success here up close and personal! I have met so many students at UCU who were sponsored as children, and even some who are still being sponsored as university students. My supervisor at my internship (still gotta tell you about that!) is a proud success story of child sponsorship, and even my littlest host brother here in Mukono is sponsored by a family in Pennsylvania. Every person I’ve met who has been sponsored has expressed their gratitude and adoration for their sponsors, so it is a mutually edifying thing. You get to write letters back and forth and actually build a relationship with a child halfway across the world! IT’S AWESOME!! If you are interested in child sponsorship, PLEEEEEASE visit www.compassion.com TODAY for more information! (There are other organizations that do child sponsorship, but I personally recommend Compassion International.)

{{My body guards. LOOK OUT!! ;) }}

SO! I know this was a long post. I appreciate you for sticking it out with me this far. I hope you have been challenged, as I have been here in Uganda, to consider just how you might be able to help the poor from right where you are. Poverty alleviation is a complex issue, and it’s not going to be solved alone or overnight. I know it can be easy to think, “how can I, as one little person on planet earth, possibly make any difference?” But believe me when I say this: YOU CAN! (I mean seriously, just look at Cindy Lou Who!!) By taking small steps together, we can make a difference – and over time, through our generosity and by the grace of God, our world will be a better place.

So what are you waiting for? Lose your life! I promise…you will find it.

Until next time, be good to yourself and be good to everyone else.

Thanks for caring,

Kelsey Jo

*Statistics courtesy of: The World Bank and World Vision

Miss Independent?

{{Fetching some water at our lodging in Gulu!}}

Many of you know that I recently reached a milestone in my life – I turned 21 last Thursday! Though I did not have my first drink (school policy and personal preference), I did have a “yogurt cocktail”-flavored lollipop (emphasis on cocktail), which was close enough for me! Birthdays aren’t really a big deal here in Uganda (case in point: two of my host siblings have had birthdays since I arrived, and I didn’t find out until weeks later! 0_o), but my new friends and host family were gracious enough to celebrate with me. The USP program assistants decorated my school locker, a group of my muzungu and UCU friends joined me for lunch at a local canteen (complete with a chocolate cupcake…an endangered species here in Uganda!!), and my internship staff provided the lollipop, along with a rousing Ugandan rendition of “Happy Birthday to You.”

The best part of my big day, however, was the surprise that awaited me at when I came home from school…a burger for dinner!! I repeat, A BURGER FOR DINNER!! Leave it to Chef Rodgers to make the birthday girl smile. :) There was no cheese (oh, how I miss that beloved animal byproduct!), but it was still a warmly welcomed break to the never-ending parade of rice and beans. After returning from my brief visit to food heaven, I ended the evening with a special screening of the Amanda Bynes classic, “What a Girl Wants” – brought to me by none other than my second oldest host brother, Alex. (Note: this was a major sacrifice for him, as his approval of a film rests on the requirement that someone has to die before the credits roll.) All in all, I had a great 21^st birthday. Simple, but unforgettable! Thank you to all of you who sent me your wishes!

{{THE BURGER!!}}

In the process of upgrading to Kelsey Version 21.0, I have been reflecting on where I have been and where I am going. To say that God has richly blessed my life in recent years (and really ever since I first met Him) would be the understatement of the century. The older I get, the more I understand His calling on my life, my indebtedness to His grace, and the power of His love. God alone has sustained you and me both from the moment He chose to breathe us into this world until the very moment that you are reading this post – and for such a miracle, I am eternally grateful! In this particular season of my life, I find myself desiring to experience a greater dependence on God. It is easy enough for me to say that I am desperate for Him, but I’m not so convinced that I actually understand the meaning of that statement in full. After all, there is plenty that I mindlessly do on a daily basis in America without ever asking for God’s help.

For example, I can walk to class, text my friends, design my outfit for the day (sparkly bows a must!), pump gas, take a shower, order an omelet in the caf (Miss B or bust!!), do my laundry, make a credit card payment, and have a jam session (helloooooo, King of Pop!) all on my own – no Savior necessary. Sure, I may chat with God in the process of any of these routines, but mostly because I’m seizing an opportunity to multi-task, not because I’m requesting His assistance. Indeed, it seems that I only know what depending on God means in so far as I am in a crisis, particular those in which my personal reputation and success are on the line. I do love God from the very bottom of my heart, but when I am honest with myself in that exact place, I cannot say that I really know what it means to FROG – fully rely on God. However, coming to this uncomfortable realization is only further confirmation that God has me exactly where He wants me….because Ugandans do.

{{A little shot of the BEAUTIFUL Nile River,
which we passed on our way to Gulu.}}

Something that almost immediately struck me about Ugandan followers of Jesus is the depth of their faith, and the way that it truly permeates every aspect of their lives. When they greet one another, they don’t say, “Hey girl hey!” – they say “Praise God!” Those who run small businesses make sure they give credit where it is due, naming their shops “God is Able Salon & Barber,” “Blessed Be God Chapattis,” and “Jesus Saves Tailoring.” The songs that they mindlessly hum in the quiet moments of the day are not Gangnam Style or Last Friday Night – they’re whatever they heard in the last worship service they attended, which was probably only a few hours ago. Truly, these people don’t just follow Jesus – they cling to Him like white on rice and beans!

And appropriately so, because they know Him as their Provider. In a place of great need like Uganda, God is called upon for help in the daily routines of those who know Him – and perhaps even of those who don’t. When you’re not sure where your next meal will come from, how you’re going to get home from work in the evening, or when you will be able to pay rent, you kind of have no choice but to pray. Now, I recognize that these very scenarios are not completely foreign to Americans – we struggle, too. But from what I’ve observed, the critical difference is that we, in our comfort-driven society, tend to panic and flee from the struggle, while Ugandans are more prone to embrace it. This is not because they desire to struggle, but because most of them trust that God will come through for whatever it is that they need.

{{Me and my friend Reagan - his birthday is the same as mine!}}

The most powerful way that I have come to understand this reality is through the testimonies of the women at Amani Uganda, one of the non-profit organizations that I had the privilege of visiting on my recent trip to the region of Gulu in northern Uganda. Gulu is an area in which civil war took place for over 20 years, pitting the Government of Uganda against the Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA), commanded by rebel leader Joseph Kony. (You may recognize his name from the “Kony 2012” craze.) One of the hallmark atrocities of this civil war was that the LRA abducted tens of thousands of children to be used as soldiers in the conflict. Arming children with AK-47’s and commanding them to “kill or be killed” – often in reference to their own family members and friends – the LRA slaughtered the innocence and eliminated the bright futures of an entire generation of northern Ugandans. Additionally, young girls were abducted and forced to become the “wives” of rebel commanders at as early as the age of 11, being subjected to violent rape, torture, and completely grotesque manual labor demands. Though the war has been unofficially over for about 5 years now (and I say unofficially because Kony never followed through with his commitment to sign the peace treaty and he is said to currently still be in operation from the Central African Republic), the journey to social, economic, and personal restoration for the victims of this conflict has only just begun.

The good news, however, is that healing is happening – at least for the women at Amani Uganda. With a mission for spiritual, emotional, and economic empowerment and recovery, Amani Uganda equips women victims of the war – especially rebel wives – with artisan job training accompanied by Biblically-based group therapy. The women in the program sew beautiful, handcrafted creations and sell them for profit, and when our group visited their workshop, we had the opportunity to purchase some. (NEWSFLASH: You can, too, at http://www.amaniafrica.org/shop-fair-trade !!) But we left with more than just awesome purses and potholders – we also received the priceless gift of the testimonies of those who made them.

{{A typical northern Ugandan grass hut. SWEET!!}}

In front of a large group of absolute strangers, four courageous women boldly spoke about the horrors they had faced as rebel wives, the times they wanted to give up and die, and the faith that kept them going. My heart absolutely broke as I listened to their stories. I wondered to myself, “How could anyone endure such trauma and have enough strength left to tell the tale?” The resilience of human beings never ceases to amaze me…

There is something inherently sobering about being in the same room with a survivor of any kind, but I felt especially humbled by these women whose life experiences have been so completely different than my own, in what seemed to me the worst way possible. The one thing that we do have in common, however, is hope in the redemption of the one, true, living God. I do not claim for one second that my understanding of such hope is as intimate as theirs, but what I do know is that “no one whose hope is in the Lord will ever be put to shame” (Psalm 25:3) – whoever you may be, wherever you may come from, and whatever you may be going through. If you’re looking for hope, purpose, or a clean slate in your life, I encourage you: turn to God. His ocean of love for you will never run dry. If you know Him already, I encourage you: trust in Him deeper. Have no fear in opening up those corners of your heart to Him that you like to try to maintain control over yourself. Because the truth is, we can depend on him – in our ordinary day to day activities and in the darkest nights of our souls – for “in Him, all things hold together.” (Colossians 1:17)

{{Some neighbors cooking at our hose for
yet another graduation party!}}

I trust that throughout the rest of my time here in Uganda, God will answer my prayer to become more dependent on Him. Considering that I can’t do much of anything by myself here anyway (for example, washing my clothes, cooking my food, bartering in a market, and even crossing a busy road all require the assistance of my Ugandan friends!), I am certainly being challenged in normal 21-year-old desires for freedom and independence. For now, I am making Psalm 63:1-4 my prayer, and waiting on the Lord for a deeper revelation of Himself:

“O God, you are my God; earnestly I seek you; my soul thirsts for you; my flesh faints for you, as in a dry and weary land where there is no water. So I have looked upon you in the sanctuary, beholding your power and glory. Because your steadfast love is better than life, my lips will praise you.So I will bless you as long as I live; in your name I will lift up my hands.”

That’s all for now, folks! I’m heading off to my rural homestay in the countryside for the next 10 days. Just a heads up, I will be without any kind of communication, so don’t be offended if I don’t e-mail you back right away. :)

Until next time, be good to yourself and be good to everybody else!

Thanks for caring,

Kelsey Jo

Minority Report

There is a word here in Uganda with which I have become well-acquainted. Little kids, boda-boda drivers, and other perfect strangers will holler it at me from the side of the road, and during my first couple of weeks here it made squirm every time:

“MUZUNGU! MUZUNGU!”

{{Look out! Muzungu on the loose in Mukono Town! ;) }}

Translation? WHITE PERSON.

Coming from America, where race is nowadays largely glossed over for the sake of anti-discrimination and common courtesy, it has been an adjustment for me to get used to the blunt way that Ugandans address the issue of race and other physical attributes. It is not that they are intentionally rude, but they just tend to “tell it like it is.” For example, it is not uncommon for a Ugandan to point out a change in your weight, a pimple on your face, or a fashion faux pas. On the same token, they also do not hesitate to tell you when you are looking “smart” (aka- nicely dressed), which is an important compliment in a culture that emphasizes being presentable in public. Either way, Ugandans say what they mean and mean what they say!

At first, I was taken aback by such honesty. I mean, can you even imagine a similar scene in America? If a muzungu pointed and shouted: “MEXICAN! MEXICAN!” from the side of the road, I think that most Americans would probably find it totally insensitive. Why? Because it’s drawing attention to someone’s status as a minority, which could easily be misinterpreted as some kind of racial hatred. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that there is anything bad about being a minority. In fact, I am a big fan of multiculturalism! My point is that, due to the combination of the American obsession with equality and the history of racial tension in our country, white Americans tend to tip-toe around the issue of race (and to even consider race an “issue” in the first place) – which is why Uganda has been a shock to my system in this arena.

{{Statue of the current King of Buganda
(kind of like the original version of Uganda),
Kabaka Muwenda Mutebi II! From a field trip
to the kingdom headquarters last week.}}

The fact that I would be in the minority here was simply not something that I had anticipated in advance. (And when I say minority, I mean M-I-N-O-R-I-T-Y!! Outside of the study abroad students, I have seen a total of 6 muzungus in all of the places I have visited combined – including the capital city!)  Because of this surprise – along with my academic study of the negative impacts of colonialism and the history of unintentionally oppressive Western missionaries in Africa within the first 3 weeks of this program – I initially felt terribly isolated and uncomfortable in my own skin. Not only did I suddenly become acutely aware of my race upon entering Uganda, but I also felt very self-conscious about Ugandans’ perceptions of me. In addition to the race factor, I was especially disturbed by the general quietness of Ugandans, thinking that I would never be able to be my true (loud…) self here.

“Do they think that I have some kind of hidden agenda here as a Westerner? Are they still bitter about the damage that white people have done to their country, and are they indirectly blaming me for it? Is there any way I can possibly serve here effectively with the stigma of being a muzungu following me around everywhere? WILL I EVER MAKE FRIENDS ?!?” During the first couple of weeks, these were the thoughts that raced through my mind each time that I left the comfort of the study abroad program quarters and ventured out into the unknown sea of beautiful black faces on campus or in my community.

Now that I have been in Uganda for a month, however, my racial anxiety has decreased significantly. I still do not enjoy being called muzungu, but I understand now that the intense negative connotation I had been associating with it was my own misperception. I am still not convinced that term is completely neutral in all circumstances, but in many cases it is, in fact, merely a descriptor – and therefore nothing Uganda get upset over ;). I also understand now that just because Ugandans are generally more reserved in nature than Americans (especially the crazy ones like me… 0_o), it does not mean that true friendship is not possible between us. It has definitely taken me more time to make friends here than I expected, but I am especially beginning to feel the seeds of kinship take root in my relationships with my host brothers and my internship colleagues, in particular (I’ll fill you in on my internship soon!!).

{{Rodgers cooking up some beef (African style!)
for a friend's graduation party...with the biggest spoon
I have ever seen in my life!!}}

Another thing that my new exploration of race has helped me to realize is just how much I appreciate the “melting pot” that is America. There are a lot of things about America that I have problems with, but this is something that I think is truly worth celebrating. I didn’t realize how much I have taken the multi-cultural nature of our country for granted until I came here to Uganda, where a far fewer number of ethnicities are represented. (From what I have gathered, there are small groups of people from other African countries here – mostly the neighboring ones like Kenya and Sudan – but the vast majority of the population is Ugandan, through and through.) The fact that in America we have people from all different cultural backgrounds in our own backyard is a unique blessing! I believe that it enriches every aspect of our society, and that it is a small reflection of John’s description of heaven in Revelation 7:9:

“After this I looked, and there before me was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, tribe, people and language, standing before the throne and before the Lamb.”

(Now, that’s not to say that America is in any way spiritually superior to a less multi-cultural country. It’s just something that I like to think about. :) )

So, what is my point in telling you all of this in the first place? My hope is that in sharing some of my emotional ups and downs as a minority here in Uganda, you will be able to better empathize with the plight of whatever “minorities” may be in your own sphere of influence. In this sense, I’m not just talking about race. I mean anyone who may feel isolated because they are different. Maybe it’s the single mom in your workplace who can’t ever go out for happy hour with the rest of you because she has to get home to her kids. What can you do to bring the party to her? Maybe it’s your college classmate who feels lonely and disoriented because he’s an upperclassmen transfer. How can you warmly welcome him into your campus community? Maybe it’s the elderly woman in your church who never gets any visitors anymore because her adult children live far away. When can you glitter Sharpie her into your social calendar?!? Maybe it’s the deaf child in your neighborhood who doesn’t have many friends because people are shy about trying to communicate with him. Why don’t you find a way to break the ice?

{{Members of the Ndere Dance Troupe performing traditional
Ugandan dance in flying colors!! Best field trip so far!}}

After all, this is exactly what Jesus Christ calls people to do, and he was the best befriender of marginalized people in all of human history! In all the Bible stories about his life, we constantly see him hanging out with the people that no one else cared to be around. Though he was popular and powerful, he had no problem associating himself with the prostitutes, the thieves, the lepers, the widows, and yes, the ethnic minorities. His mission was to “seek and save” not the confident people who have it all together, but the lost. (Luke 19:10) At the end of time, our attitudes and actions towards “the least of these” will be a determining factor in our eternal destiny, for:

"When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, he will sit on his glorious throne. All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate the people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. He will put the sheep on his right and the goats on his left. Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’ Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’ The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’" –Matthew 25:31-40

I encourage you to be intentional about reaching out to the minorities in your life this week, whoever they may be – because I can now tell you from experience that even just the smallest gesture of friendliness can go a long way in making them feel welcome. Invite the stranger in, and you yourself will be blessed!!

{{Me and my youngest brother, Kisaakye!
His name means "grace" in Luganda. :) }}

Welp, that’s all for now, folks! I’m heading out of town this weekend to a city in northern Uganda called Gulu. We will be visiting non-profit organizations that help with rehab for child soldiers and other victims of the civil war that took place in that part of the country for many years. I’ll let you know what I learn when I get back! :)

Until then, be good to yourself and be good to everybody else!

Thanks for caring,

Kelsey Jo