Darkness and the Light.

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”  John 1:5

The podcast that we listened to on the way out of town was fitting in a weird sort of way.  It explored darkness; stories about darkness.  Astronauts told tales of shadows falling across their arms in space, and it was so black, so absent of light, that their hands appeared to vanish into thin air.  It was the kind of darkness that swallowed everything it touched.

A version of that blackness is what we heard about when we arrived in the camps.  Our first interview broke my heart.  When she tried to tell us the stories of what happened, of rebels and death, of losing a first born. Of finding her mother in the garden, too late.  She stopped and cried and my heart stopped, too.  Like way too many of the stories we heard from the refugee settlements near the congolese border, it is better if I leave most of it to your imagination.

Right now, there are more than 250,000 Congolese Refugees who call Uganda home.  60,000 of these have come just since this past Christmas.  Here, it’s been called the silent crisis - one you don’t often hear about on the news back home.  There are hundreds of thousands of people running for their lives from raging violence, through the forest, across the lake.  You hear stories of families being separated in the chaos, going for years not knowing if their loved ones are lost, or lost forever.  Mothers haul babies on their backs for days, fathers lay on top of their children pretending to be dead.  65% of the refugees here are children, many of them arriving here on their own -  unaccompanied minors. This war in Congo has been called the greatest lost of life since World War 2 - with around 5 million lost to it since it began. Child soldiers, mass graves, massacre, rape.  I met people who carried photos of their dead, as proof of what is happening and in hope that someone will listen.

And yet, there is hope.

I was on this trip as part of a media team with Tutapona, as I’ve been working with them as their Director of Communications for a few months now.  Tutapona is a Swahili word - meaning, “We will be Healed.”  Our field offices and incredible field staff provide Trauma Care, group sessions and one on ones for those affected by the horrors and trauma of war.

Every single person we interviewed told us a story you could not imagine.  And every single one of them talked about forgiveness and how forgiving the people who have hurt them has set them free.    I’m humbled and awed by the human spirit.  We will be healed.

The sign above the door reads, "God is Here."

The Tutapona staff listen with compassion to each story, they care deeply and walk along side of the people in their programs.  They cry in the downs and rejoice in the victories - the love is so apparent in all that they do.  These programs easily draw 100 people, and many of those, eventually gaining back their joy, hope and peace go on to make huge differences in the communities they are living.  Tutapona will turn 10 this summer, and during that time, more than 40,000 people have gone through these trauma care programs.

That’s 40,000 lights shining in this darkness, and 40,000 people changed.  That is a brightness that no shadow can put out, and it makes me wonder, if they can shine so brightly, what am I holding on to?

“We are all broken, that’s how the light gets in.” Ernest Hemingway

#40thousandlights

www.tutapona.com

https://www.facebook.com/Tutapona/

Precious Memories

It seems like a long time since I’ve sat down to write something for the blog - although there’s been a hundred times that I’ve had something polished up and ready in my head.  It’s easy to get caught up in the everyday and the pen never hits the paper…

A few weeks ago now, unbeknownst to me, little, sticky fingers typed in YouTube videos on the laptop and then in a rush for bedtime, I set it down on the countertop in the kitchen without thinking twice.  By the next morning, millions of near-microscopic ants had invaded it!  They were in the DVD slot, crawling through the keyboard and “GASP!” in the hard-drive.

Over the next couple of days, as my hard-drive slowly failed, we panicked mostly about the photos that would be lost.  Thankfully, someone was able to remove it and transfer them off before they were lost forever.  But looking back through our memories and experiences from the last few years made me stop and think that sometimes, memories are best when they’re shared.  So here are a few of ours, in words and in (very precious) photos:

Matt comes home every night hot, tired, dirty - and full of excitement for the people he's met, flown and the amazing stories of the work they're doing.  I love that he loves his job, and the excitement of imagining how many people can be impacted by one flight.

The neighbourhood kids have become like part of the family and there is hardly a day when we don't see a collection of them arrive at the gate for some fun.  When I look through nearly 4 years of photos, its fun to see how they've grown and changed, and how we've come to love them like our own.  Our house is a revolving door of good-natured chaos, and we wouldn't have it any other way.

Life in MAF, and in Kampala, is always an adventure.  We think up fun things for the kids to do - slip and slide on a old airline banner, costume parties, Canadian Thanksgiving dinner.  We've had fun creating versions of our own traditions, and learning about other peoples', too.  Every time we leave the gate, I'm never sure what to expect and it's exciting to figure things out and explore as the day goes on. Also, the goat in the photo below, travelled to school on a tarp in the trunk of my van, along with 6 rabbits!  Like I said, always an adventure :)

This year, Levi has come into our home and all of our hearts have grown at least 3 extra sizes!  He's sweet, happy, and has us all wrapped around his chubby little fist.

I don't always realise how far we've come in these years.  From so, so homesick to feeling completely at home.  It's makes my heart ache, in a good way, to look at these little faces. Theo the imp, Fred the brave and Charlee the baby snuggler.  I can't wait to look back over many more years with them and continually be so proud of who they are all becoming.

And finally there's me.  Looking back through, I don't make an appearance in too many of these shots.  But I'm always there, in the background, behind the camera or making sure things are running smoothly and everyone is loved and taken care of - from family to friends, visitors and more.  Our house and hearts are full of precious memories, and whether the actual photos are lost or not, we carry them with us and nothing - not even an invasion of ants - can take that away!