If there's one thing which is impossible to describe, it is the person I have become in such a short time. The old saying goes, "People don't change overnight," which I still believe is true . . . in 99% of the cases. Because even though six weeks still isn't overnight, it's pretty damn fast. I am now convinced that each person has something sometime at least once in their life that will take who they were, chew that person up, and poop out someone else entirely. Uganda definitely chewed up Katie Sue Sullivan and pooped out me. The amazing part about this experience that I had is that I'm not different because "I saw such shocking things," or "I found out about suffering in a way I never had," or something like that. I feel every American loves their drama and most of the people I tell about it want it to be all about the drama and heartbreak I saw, which I'm not saying I didn't see, but that's not the point. What changed me was that I met people I loved on a deeper more unique level than I had ever known before. In loving me they gave me a part of my soul I didn't know was missing and in leaving them another part of my soul died in a way I had never expected.
One program HELP International had set up while I was there was called PWD-"Persons with Disabilities." It was all about teaching mothers how to teach their disabled children, setting up volunteers in Uganda to visit these children and give them outside friendship and love from their families, and most importantly we, the HELP volunteers, were to love them ourselves on a personal level. One little girl's name was Jenny. She was shy and sweet, with one bad arm, a mental disability we never identified by a name, and she loved to play catch. Her other arm was stronger than one would have guessed. My experience with her went as follows:
-The first day I met Jenny she was unsure of me--afraid of my touch and suspicious of me when I looked into her eyes. We played catch for the entire two hours the meeting was and when it was time to go, she wasn't ready to.
-For a few more weeks it went that same way. In addition to being shy and very sweet, Jenny also proved to be a mama's girl. Occassionally she would just need her few minutes, five to ten, to sit by her mother while I played with other kids, and when she was content and done, she would return to where we played, I would notice after a few moments, and we would proceed as before.
-Week four. It's a very busy day at the PWD meeting--many of the volunteers seem to be missing or there have just been a number of children who showed up which normally don't, but either way I am running to keep up with these energetic kids. I get distracted several times from Jenny and my own normal routine of catch, but she is a patient girl. However when one distraction is just taking too long for her, Jenny, the girl who tenses at the touch of my hand, and challenges me with her eyes, takes MY hand and guides me over to where we play. I nearly cried I was so overwhelmed with emotion because I knew what that meant: Jenny trusted me.
-Week seven. It's my last week at PWDs. And I only have a few days more of being in Uganda period. My emotions were running high as it were and until then I had never cried or lost control, but nothing could have prepared me for that day. Jenny had shown signs of a more mischievous spirit underneath through the weeks; every now and again we would share in an unspoken joke, or she proved to do something completely unexpected and funny at the strangest times. And this day, my last day, Jenny showed me her true self. She spoke to me. Jenny never spoke a word to anyone over the past weeks, not once, and that day for whatever reason, Jenny couldn't stop telling me about all sorts of things. I've never wanted to speak Luganda so bad . . . I wanted to know each word she was sharing with me, but the fact that she WAS sharing proved to be the miracle. That day she also sang songs to me and with me, jumped all around the room, danced, spoke some more. There were even a number of ten minutes or so when we took a rest and Jenny sat and merely held my hand, talking and singing her heart out. Even now I can't write this without sobbign and staining my face with salty tears, but it is only because I nver felt such a gift before in my life. Who am I to have the love and trust of this beautiful daughter of our Heavenly Father? Who am I to be worthy to hold her hand and hear her voice sing light happy songs?
*I admit that now I have struggled at times with this odd feeling of almost . . . self-loathing. Allow me to explain I am not one to lack in self-worth, self-esteem, or self-confidence, but this is a unique kind of disdain in that I hate I am not where I felt more at home than I ever have. I feel horrible and disappointed with myself that I'm not where I feel, but logically know is not true, I should be. In my soul, I should be with Jenny still--loving her, serving her, I've never done something more worthwhile in my life. But I also know that my path is to be here for a reason and there will always be someone to be with Jenny. That's why God gives us mothers and sisters and more friends, like I was to Jenny, to his children. Jenny is fine. I know that. Heavenly Father will see to it. And yet, at the risk of sounding naive and cliche, I feel deeply in my heart that He wanted Jenny and I to meet, we were supposed to meet . . . so I would humble myself and remind myself how to love and be loved in the purest of ways. Jenny was... IS my friend. And I miss her terribly.
One program HELP International had set up while I was there was called PWD-"Persons with Disabilities." It was all about teaching mothers how to teach their disabled children, setting up volunteers in Uganda to visit these children and give them outside friendship and love from their families, and most importantly we, the HELP volunteers, were to love them ourselves on a personal level. One little girl's name was Jenny. She was shy and sweet, with one bad arm, a mental disability we never identified by a name, and she loved to play catch. Her other arm was stronger than one would have guessed. My experience with her went as follows:
-The first day I met Jenny she was unsure of me--afraid of my touch and suspicious of me when I looked into her eyes. We played catch for the entire two hours the meeting was and when it was time to go, she wasn't ready to.
-For a few more weeks it went that same way. In addition to being shy and very sweet, Jenny also proved to be a mama's girl. Occassionally she would just need her few minutes, five to ten, to sit by her mother while I played with other kids, and when she was content and done, she would return to where we played, I would notice after a few moments, and we would proceed as before.
-Week four. It's a very busy day at the PWD meeting--many of the volunteers seem to be missing or there have just been a number of children who showed up which normally don't, but either way I am running to keep up with these energetic kids. I get distracted several times from Jenny and my own normal routine of catch, but she is a patient girl. However when one distraction is just taking too long for her, Jenny, the girl who tenses at the touch of my hand, and challenges me with her eyes, takes MY hand and guides me over to where we play. I nearly cried I was so overwhelmed with emotion because I knew what that meant: Jenny trusted me.
-Week seven. It's my last week at PWDs. And I only have a few days more of being in Uganda period. My emotions were running high as it were and until then I had never cried or lost control, but nothing could have prepared me for that day. Jenny had shown signs of a more mischievous spirit underneath through the weeks; every now and again we would share in an unspoken joke, or she proved to do something completely unexpected and funny at the strangest times. And this day, my last day, Jenny showed me her true self. She spoke to me. Jenny never spoke a word to anyone over the past weeks, not once, and that day for whatever reason, Jenny couldn't stop telling me about all sorts of things. I've never wanted to speak Luganda so bad . . . I wanted to know each word she was sharing with me, but the fact that she WAS sharing proved to be the miracle. That day she also sang songs to me and with me, jumped all around the room, danced, spoke some more. There were even a number of ten minutes or so when we took a rest and Jenny sat and merely held my hand, talking and singing her heart out. Even now I can't write this without sobbign and staining my face with salty tears, but it is only because I nver felt such a gift before in my life. Who am I to have the love and trust of this beautiful daughter of our Heavenly Father? Who am I to be worthy to hold her hand and hear her voice sing light happy songs?
*I admit that now I have struggled at times with this odd feeling of almost . . . self-loathing. Allow me to explain I am not one to lack in self-worth, self-esteem, or self-confidence, but this is a unique kind of disdain in that I hate I am not where I felt more at home than I ever have. I feel horrible and disappointed with myself that I'm not where I feel, but logically know is not true, I should be. In my soul, I should be with Jenny still--loving her, serving her, I've never done something more worthwhile in my life. But I also know that my path is to be here for a reason and there will always be someone to be with Jenny. That's why God gives us mothers and sisters and more friends, like I was to Jenny, to his children. Jenny is fine. I know that. Heavenly Father will see to it. And yet, at the risk of sounding naive and cliche, I feel deeply in my heart that He wanted Jenny and I to meet, we were supposed to meet . . . so I would humble myself and remind myself how to love and be loved in the purest of ways. Jenny was... IS my friend. And I miss her terribly.
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