I should have known

Somewhere, in the back of my mind, barried under years of different city maps, public transport systems, currency exchange rates, airline baggage restrictions, airport regulations, and making sure batteries are charged and everything is in the right place... there is a small place that reminds me of something... something important.

I get sick when I come to Ireland.

If only I had dug that section of my brain out and remembered, in a way which inspired a premptive action...

But I didn't.   I've been really sick for a week.  The last few days  I was "feeling better"... but still couldn't drag my body out of bed long enough to do ever many things.  I still saw some of the people I wanted to... even if there are some lunch dates which are more a haze than anything else. 

It is frustrating, deeply.  Yes, this time in Ireland, Northern Ireland and Scotland, was supposed to be for rest and rejuvination. But not hard core recovery.  I have not gotten the deeper rest and tme to think and pray that I wanted... but then maybe we don't always get what we want.  Perhaps all we ever get is just enough, just what we need.

I am learning though.  As I've traveled through this trip, I've started making some rules for my traveling... as well as a list of pereferences.  It's that constant realization that I am not 20 years old anymore, that that is ok, and that I can actually live as an adult.  That's pretty  cool, and a good, healthy realization to have.

Someone asked me this evening how many places I have stayed during this trip.  I didn't even bother to count, I just said a lot.  I think I've reached that point.  I think I need to embace the fact I professionally travel, and that it doesn't matter how many times I've been somewhere, or exactly how many beds I've slept in, or flights I've taken... no one honestly cares. 

I'm tired.  I hope that tomorrow goes well, that I have a clear enough head.

Because ready or not, I fly on Wedneday... back to Africa for 9 months.

And actaully, I'm really ok with that.

Home.

I often think about the idea of Home.

What does it mean to have a home, or to be at home. 

Is it a place?  Is it a person?  Is it a group, a piece of land, a city or village?

Today, I came home. 

I've been away for 2.5 years, yet the doors of each house open with a loud and clear "Welcome Home"...

The love that flows like rivers over me is almost too much to bare.  It brings me joy, and a strong reminder of who I am and where I came from.

Dublin is home.  These people are my home.  They are my family, every cup of tea, every memory, every hug and "glad to see ya"... every freezing cold breath teaches me...

Family is not blood relation.  People really don't change that much.  Relationships run deeper than the hours of the clock, and farther than the days on the calendar. 

I don't deserve this love.  A punk kid lived here, making messes and mistakes, but trying to love in some sort of way.  I did nothing great here, but I know... I don't deserve this love that flows, over me like rivers, down from Wicklow. 

I am very tired now, many days and vehicals have brought me to this door.  To these cold shores, the biting wind, and to this love, which brings me home again. 

Love is where I am at home, Dublin family I will ever owe you my heart, for you have already done something beautiful, something deeply healing and new, and all I have is gratitude.

Irish Eyes, with breakfast in Dubai

Tomorrow I am starting my trip to Dublin, Ireland!



 On Monday (very early) morning I will be having breakfast in Dubai with my friend John Everington!  This is my first time to go to Dubai, and he gladly agreed to pick me up during my 6 hour, night time lay over, and show me the city!!  I am so excited... it'll be a blast.  We'll have breakfast about 4:30 am somewhere in Dubai.  This is a great life.

Once I reach Dublin, one of my closest Irish friends is collecting me from the airport, armed with a heavy winter coat!  I have some small hope of having lunch with some youth leaders from all over Europe, but even if I don't do that... I will eat a bagel and cream cheese, and some other wonderfulness!  And of course, get quality time with people I love and miss a lot.  I am truly joy filled at the thought of being with my second family in Ireland.

Very late on Monday night, my best friend in all of Europe arrives to spend the WHOLE week with me, as we attend the RELaY conference!  We haven't SEEN each other in 5 years, but stay close in touch through letters and email.  She is a gem, and I so grateful that I get to have some time with her.

What gifts.  All of this.  This whole opportunity is a gift and a blessing... and not just for me.

My team, which I trustingly leave behind, has a lot of work in front of them.  A meeting with all of the head teachers for various schools in Kampala is their first challenge, followed by the organization of a large networking luncheon and an activity day at our Cornerstone Ranch. 

I know they can do it.  I trust my team, and am so grateful for them.

This is development:  First you do it, then they do it with you, then they do it themselves, then they do it and can't remember who taught them!

So... my team is taking over for the next 3 weeks, and I know they will rock! 

And me, I'm off to Dublin.... and some exciting breakfast in Dubai.

My Cornerstone Brothers

I’ve been thinking about writing this blog post.  I think this is the moment for it.  

Two things happened over the last few days ago.

The first is that I moved into the Cornerstone basement on a Saturday.

I have some neighbors.  4, wonderful adult men.  We have what are called “boys housing” just about 100 feet from the basement accommodation.  This is housing for some of the guys who work at cornerstone and just need a basic bedroom and not much more.  I discovered exactly who lives there, and was pretty delighted.  All of them are great guys, even if one of them does enjoy reminding me that I am beautiful. 

The second is that there was a strange man who began coming around our compound on Monday.

I first saw him at eight in the morning on Monday.  We were supposed to be having an office women’s fellowship, so as I went up to the office I noticed him.  I had seen dozens of people like him before, while living at the community in Mbarara.  The same eyes, somewhat glazed over but still able to deliver a chilling blank stare.  He moved slowly, almost shuffling, and jerky somehow.  He had no shoes, and rough, torn clothing.  I learned later that he is one of our old students from Cornerstone who has not been getting the correct treatment for his condition. He came here because he knows we are a family of friends that can be trusted, in a way we are probably the only home he knows. 

I have seen many of these people before.  They are seriously mentally ill.  You see cases unlike anything I’ve seen in America here in Africa.  With this particular person I got the feeling that I should keep my distance, and was a bit nervous about him because of the way he looked at me.  I stick out a little in an office of Ugandans…

Fred, one of my neighbors, who is a great guy, confirmed that I should keep my distance and stay watchful.   Over the day, I felt uncomfortable, but at the same time reassured.  I watched carefully how the people in my office responded to this new visitor.  Most especially, I saw how my Ugandan brothers cared for him.  They gave him respect in our office meeting, listening to what he tried to speak out, they gave him clothes, and food, allowing him to eat with them.  They gave him shoes, and conversation.  They loved him. 

In the evening, we had our TED Talk meeting, which is a group of white expats who get together for dinner and a discussion.  We meet in my new home, the Cornerstone Basement.  This guy kept coming in and out, hanging around in an uncomfortable way.  So I called Fred.  He promised that he and the guys would take care of me when all the other people left. Before the crew went, I stepped outside to see who was around.  I found Joseph, a good friend who takes care of our cars, standing outside.  I called him over and explained my situation.

For one, I was happy we were caring for this guy.  But the problem was that I didn’t feel safe with him around.  Our downstairs accommodation door doesn’t lock, and I would soon be the only person in that section of the building.  Joseph has kids, and I think a soft spot for me in his heart… and so he said to wait for a minute, and came back with a HUGE chain and pad lock.  We worked with the doors so that I could put the chain through the bars and secure the door.  I was grateful.  I locked myself in that night and felt much safer as I watched my brothers in the rooms below usher the visitor towards their accommodation. 

I am posting about this experience because I am incredibly proud of these men around me.  They provided me with the personal assurance of safety I needed, I felt listened to, loved, and respected.  They also served this man who is obviously in need.  And they did both without complaining, and with great grace and incredible love. 

So here is to the men I work with…

From Alfred, who listens to my every thought and complaint and gives the best advice in the world, to Philip who is ever ready to help me fix any problem or print any document… who takes time out of his day to do a random photo shoot with Cornerstone Veritas.  To the men who greet me, and ask me the most random questions in the world like Judah and Alan.  To the men who protect me and always have my back like Joseph, Fred and Councilor.  To Javis, who just can listen and speak one word and shut me up (in a good way), and David always ready to stop accounts to talk about life.  To Denis, who always has space at our desk for me and some new way to make me smile.  There are so many others. 

No one will ever pay them for ALL the consideration they show, for all the thousands of extra miles they treed.  No one will ever give them a prize for their love and faithfulness.  So I had to post about them.

Here is to the men around me.  The men who make me laugh, every day.  The men who remind me of how awesome Africans can be.  The men who protect me and watch out of me, even when I don’t notice.  The men who do little things to show great love.  The men who feed the hungry, clothe the naked, and give shelter to the poor.  The men who listen and act, who encourage, who respect, men who care.  Here is to the men who are real men, humble and strong.

Here is to my Cornerstone Brothers.  You make me happy to be a woman.  You show me what it means to be men of integrity.  You make me feel safe, and tell me every day that I do in fact, belong with you.  

To you I am eternally grateful; by you I am continually inspired.  You are my family of friends.