Solidarity...

Happy December!

I wrote this entry a few months back with the intent of posting it a lot sooner than this. But, it's one of those that is applicable to my experience here, in general. There is a lot more to say on what I've learned about solidarity, but I think I will just leave you with this entry for now...

“This is how the people suffer…,” said Michelle as we were stopped on the side of the road to Adjumani from Gulu. The road was horrible…full of giant, deep potholes full of thick, tire swallowing mud. We stopped about three times so that Jeff could use his truck to try and rescue some of the other lorries (trucks) and buses that had become trapped in the mud. We also got stuck at one point, but Jeff masterfully got us loose and we were on our way in no time. Fortunately, we finished the journey safe and well even though we were very tired, sweaty, a bit dizzy, and covered with reddish dust that almost resembled a fake tan gone wrong.

Those words that Michelle spoke stuck with me. At our home in Adjumani, we are hardly suffering the way the people here do. But, things like the road from Gulu to Adjumani that I refer to above, shortages in Adjumani of milk and butter, the possibility of more shortages as the main route from Kampala to Adjumani could become impassable for trucks bringing food and supplies, and a good chance that the running water system drying up at some point during the dry season (December, January, February, March) are all reminders of how we really do need to depend on our Father, and how life’s circumstances are so beyond our control. (Since I first wrote this entry we did experience a surprise one afternoon of having no running water until the next day…Thankfully, this home was built with a very large cistern in back from which we could get water for drinking, bathing, and washing dishes.) The photo to the right is a typical scene at a borehole of many jerry cans and other water holding containers waiting to be filled. A family of six people will often use up to twelve jerry cans a day which are all carried by hand to the home - we may join our neighbors in "fetching" water if our system does indeed dry up. (And, yet another example after a few more weeks since this last addition– Jaclyn and I took the bus from Kampala to Adjumani today and ended up getting stuck in the mud twice. The second time, after all of the passengers filed out of the bus to await our rescue, the rain started to fall and we all ran underneath a tree which didn’t prove to be much of an umbrella. As I started to go through the options in my mind of how we could get home Jaclyn made the comment that, “This is what the people here have to go through…so why shouldn’t we be with them?” I agreed. We were all in it together…and, I felt like we were right where we were supposed to be.)

In all of the situations I just mentioned, there is an opportunity for panic to set in. But, then as I remember Michelle’s words, there is somehow a peace in the solidarity that I feel as I think about suffering with those we live amongst. Again, we have other ways of getting the resources we need and our suffering would most likely never match that of our neighbors, but it brings me that much closer to understanding what solidarity truly means. And, it opens up the opportunity to live in faith and not in fear…never easy, always good.