I turned 30 last week. I feel like a piece of history now. Like I’ve finally been around long enough for them to put me in a museum right next to Pocahontas and Kermit the Frog.
I think I’d like to be in the Ice Age section. Definitely not ceramics.
Other than that, 30 feels about the same as 29.
I’d give you an update on what’s happening with my future, but I’m afraid there’s not much to say. Just imagine us having a conversation and you asking me all the questions you have, and my answer always being “I don’t know.” That’s a pretty fair summation of things.
I have one more story to tell from northern Uganda (and if I’m allowed to have favorites, this is definitely it), but I’m waiting for the picture that goes with the story, and I’m not sure how long that will take.
Patience.
It seems to be an overarching theme these days.
In the meantime, I’m receiving updates from my friends in Lira.
They send you their greetings and wish they could meet you and hope you are all doing well. They ask you to pray for the people of northern Uganda.
They tell me of a fatherless teenage boy who had to drop out of school last year because he had no money for school fees. A month ago, someone picked up the cost, and now he can go back to school. God is faithful.
They tell me of a daughter who fell sick at school and had to come home, and now with hospital expenses, there is no money to send her back to school. God is still faithful.
They tell me of street boys who were accused of stealing car parts. Eight of them were beaten, four so severely that they were put in the hospital. Two are still in critical condition. God is always faithful . . . but what is He doing?
And the echo comes back: What am I doing?
See, I know the faces of the street kids now. I know their names. I watched them play football and sat under the tree outside where they go to church and talked with them about God and family and life. I wonder if one of the kids laying in a hospital bed now is someone I know. I wonder if his name is Solomon or Daniel or Ronald or Jared or Dogo.
I’m not okay with the idea of any of them getting woken up in the middle of the night by sticks and machetes wielded by enraged adults.
As though anyone could be okay with that.
It makes me want to know how to pray.
It makes me want to better understand God and my place in this world.
It makes me want to write less and do more.
