Tuesday, July 2, 2013

My Heart in Karamoja

How can a part of my heart be in Karamoja? I’ve never been there. I have no desire to live that close to the equator. I'm more of an Alaska kind of dreamer. But in the quiet of the days, it is there my thoughts dwell in a continuous state of prayer. Uganda. Hmmm ... Uganda.

On the laptop, my background is a photo of several Karamajong women who make journals. It is called The Akiru Project. Click over and read about them here. They make the paper by hand, and assemble the most beautiful, earthy leather journals, symbols to me of a woman’s strength in the midst of great hardship, of their courage and strength. Check out their Etsy shop as well! 

My heart cries for them, rejoices with them, and rests with them in the quiet of the day.

No, I don’t want to live there. I don’t want to live the rest of my life with malaria. I don’t want my son to either, or my husband. I don't want to live on the other side of the world, away from our older sons, away from family, away from friends. I don't want to have to change and stretch that much.

But in a little hut, with a kitchen hut just a few feet away, live two people whom I love dearly, pray for often, and live vicariously through. And SHE PLAYS THE GUITAR (more on that later)! I had a dream the other night that they built another bedroom/living hut, and we moved into it. We lived simply, squatty potty and all, with no electricity, no running water, no conveniences, no daily commutes, no phones ringing off the hook, no hundreds of emails a day. Just us, living in community with them, sharing our lives and our faith under the next tree.

A part of my heart rests in Karamoja. I wonder if my body ever will?

Added 13 July 2013: 
Take a look at this link to find out more about Akiru, which means ... rain.

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