Bliss

This is what happens when you open yourself up to love. When you give it and let yourself receive it. It's a vision I saw again and again as we moved through Rwanda. There's something about the way Jen connects with people, particularly her extended family in Rwanda, that's difficult to put in words. I admire it, and I'm so thankful that I was the one to capture it.

Why I Hold Back

There was something about William. The way he leaned in when he spoke. The expressiveness of his hands and the kindness in his eyes. I liked him in an instant and was so moved by his story. William has 19 brothers and sisters and lived as a refugee in Uganda before returning to his family's homeland in Rwanda after the genocide. We talked for a long time on the sofa that day. Just the two of us. We talked about his love for his three daughters and his wife. The importance of education and the sacrifices he makes to offer this gift to his family. We talked about gratitude.

"Bite... (hi, how are you?) William!" I said nearly shouting into my headset on Skype the other day. "It's Stephania!"

It was the first time I sat down to call a few of my friends in Rwanda since my visit weeks ago. It's not that I haven't wanted to call, but in a strange way... I've felt a need to hold back. To hold myself in a space apart from their love to a degree. To keep myself from truly missing them.

"Stephania! Nibijiza (good)... How are you? I miss you!"

It melted me... this little conversation that lasted less than ten minutes... comprised of basic English phrases mixed with a handful of Kinyarwanda words that ended in "turikumwe" (we are together). Such sweetness. Pure love. And as I ended the call I couldn't help but wonder why I hold back.

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.

Toward the Mountain

We were headed toward the mountain on the backs of rented motorcycles. The place where Innocent goes to fast and pray for days at a time. He was eager to share it with us and chose the shady space beneath the tree at the summit as the setting for his story. I felt unsure about this excursion at the outset... miles away from the quiet village of Mutara... my arms wrapped snuggly around Mupenzi's waist wondering what would happen if I let go... But as the dusty path lead us closer to the base of the mountain we would climb, I found myself easing into the experience. Loosening my grip and letting go.

Pureness of Heart, Depth of Hope

House girls and boys, many of whom are orphans, take on the brunt of household tasks in many homes throughout Rwanda... fetching water from the well and sticks from the ground, cooking food on open fires, washing dishes and clothes in small plastic basins, sweeping and wiping dust from floors twice each day, cleaning the latrine, and carrying young children on their backs. They do this work in exchange for a place to live and food to eat. Some are paid modestly. Few have opportunities to attend school, despite their sincere desire to learn and hope for a better life.

Betty never complained, though she was quiet from time to time. Lost in thought. Orphaned as a child during the genocide, she and her brother, Desire, made their way as refugees from Congo to Rwanda. She's persevered and made her way as a house girl. We'll be sharing more of Betty's story soon, but you should know that Jen and I were truly inspired by this young 22-year old woman – the pureness of her heart and the depth of her hope.