on the inside

I can't get it out of my mind. Those eyes. The feel of her hand finding its way to mine. The certainty of his steady presence in the dark. How she showed me the faded photograph of herself in the smart red suit. How we embraced because there were no words between us. How his small hand smoothed the hair away from my face and tucked it behind my ear without hesitation. How she looked out over her land and seemed to glow under a fading sun. How he insisted that I take his bible and asked me not to forget. These moments surface... tugging me deep down to a sliver of a space that makes my heart ache. A place where logic fails and courage is required. A place with no exit sign.

Have you experience such a place? Where the only thing you can do is call on your own courage? We'd love to hear about it.

Picture Hope: What Dreams May Come

The first time we met she had welcomed me like a long lost daughter, the child she never knew. I went to her arms as if I had always belonged there and then sat back to hear the stories--how she had been dreaming of me for thirty years, how she had been waiting, how relieved she was I brought the lights.

This visit she confesses the dream was not an easy one, that she had seen a white woman coming into her house with torches, how she feared that the house would go up in flames, how it disturbed her so much she told her two closest sons and her daughter, my good friend, years before we met. She tells me, only now, that all her dreams had come true, only none of it happened the way she imagined.

The house would be a new one. The light would be her eyes shining at the thought that she had ever been afraid. The fire would be the love that ignited when we all gathered in the same place, equally enchanted by the other. The torches would be a bagful of headlamps that made her laugh and laugh to see the light shining from her head as she made her way across the room.

I ask her what she's dreaming now as she holds my hand, the one with the gold ring she gave me, the ring that is turning my finger green and making me happy. Everything will happen in its own time, she tells me, not willing to give away any more secrets.

Besides. What could we dream that could be any better than this--to be together, body, mind and spirit? What could we imagine that could give us any more comfort? What could possibly give us any more hope?

Invisible Barriers

Frank and Betty invited us to join their family for dinner during our stay in Konombe. I have an ample collection of images of their three daughters and a young boy friend that exude joy – bright eyes and big smiles, the oldest cocking a proud pose in front of her father's car... but I keep coming back to this image and this one. It's representative of our beginning. Their questions. The children had not yet eased into themselves. Curious. Unsure. Wondering what to think of these two Muzungus (white people) with their big cameras. It reminds me of the presence of invisible barriers we craft on instinct. And the power of trust to tear them down.

All Right

Most of the time when you think of Rwanda the first thing that comes to mind is the genocide, that fateful moment in 1994 when almost a million people were killed in less than 100 days while the world looked on.  While the aftermath of the genocide is still major news for most media outlets considering Rwanda, the real story of everyday life is much more hopeful.  Kigali, the capital city of Rwanda, is a boom town, with bamboo scaffolding scaling construction on every corner.  Rwanda has the highest percentage of female elected officials in the world, and the country's communication strategy includes laying fiber optic cable right along the brand new energy grid.  Despite being among the world's poorest countries, a spirit of positivity fuels forward motion in Rwanda, and everywhere we went we could feel it.

In the stories of recovery from great trauma. 

In the tales of love found after all hope was lost.

In the platefuls of green bananas served up each night with so much enthusiasm and kindness.

In the backroom at the barbershop where something as normal and everyday as having someone wash your hair on an uneventful Wednesday is proof positive everything really is all right.

Hope Springs from Compassion

"Do want to meet her?" Innocent asked us as we walked the open field high on a hill in Umutara. "She has HIV."

"Of course, yes, please tell her to come." Jen replied.

Margaret Mukakarangwa sat quietly in the sitting room with gentle folded hands. Her eyes soft. A 45-year old mother of five girls. She spoke in her native Kinyarwanda language as our friend Michel translated her story to us. A story that started with the tragic loss of her father and three siblings to the genocide and traversed through her journey as a refugee from Uganda to Rwanda, the loss of her husband to AIDS, the shame thrust upon her life with HIV, the vulnerability of depending on the goodwill of others to obtain food for her family and ended with the hope she finds rooted in her faith.

"What can we do for you?" Jen asked Margaret after she finished her story.

"You can pray for me," she said softly and then she offered us a blessing.

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In support of Fair Content, we made a small monetary contribution to Margaret from our Picture Hope Name Your Dream Assignment fund to honor her audio story we intend to share with you.