Beautiful Motion

These first days of the year, and last days at home, keep passing faster. I had not even finished unpacking, and began packing again. I got to have conversation, one of my favorite things, with people. Finally, I got to spend some time on my own. I've never been much into New Year's resolutions. But I've started a list. Maybe it's to try to stay the change that's happened these past four months. Nothing super ambitious. The list is compromised of a bunch of simple and sometimes obvious ideas. Listen more. Spend less. Write more poems. Finish reading the Bible. Run a mini-marathon. I thought about really trying to give up coffee. For real this time. Completely out. That's not going to happen. For me, there will always be less coffee than tea, but there will always be coffee.

I've spent a lot of time these past few days trying to develope photos. This has proven to be quite a task. I have over 3,000 to sift through. And besides that, one problem after another has occured in getting the images from my macbook, to that glorious blue envelope the prints come in. I'm kinda daft when it comes to technology, hence it's been problematic. In all my love for photos, and all my love for Ireland... the task is not one of the most important things in my life right now.

This past summer I met a family from Sudan. Darfur actually. I'd hang out with them every now and then, and we'd just have a wonderful time. Comparing cultures, learning the language of the other, drinking tea... January 1st, I got a call from Wedad, the 21-year-old daughter of the family. She wanted me to come over the next day. I wanted nothing more. So the next day I went to their apartment where out of their poverty and their generousity, they shared some goat meat and tea with me. After seeing Asila (the mom), Nual and Warda (sisters), and little baby Yasim, I fell into conversation with Wedad.

She started tell me about their life in Darfur. I heard, first hand, these stories of what it was like to leave friends behind. Her village was attacked by "helicopter bombs". She saw her uncle get shot twice in the head, and live 15 days before dying. After some years of fighting, their family decided to escape. They fled, on foot, to Chad. Where they lived under a tree. For months. With absolutely nothing. And something I noticed, she spoke of these things with not a single plea for pity. It's just her life.

I asked her if she'd ever go back. She said she would. And then explained in her beautifully broken English something along the lines....

"It's my country. Leaders die. Armies leave. But it will always be my country. In Darfur, seeing people important. Here... work important, school important. My country, you always see people."

Wedad is a Muslim. Eventually we moved into the topic of Islam, what it means to her, and finally, what she thinks about Jesus. It'd be really hard to recap that conversation. But I'll try.

She's very passionate, very intelligent. She explained her religion to me, in great detail. She knew it so thoroughly. Her shock at how so many people can say "I am Christian" or "I am Muslim", and yet live completely unconsumed by it showed so much of her heart. A heart that genuinely wants to give herself to something she can believe in. She likes Jesus, and the things He taught. I told her I do too. So we went down that path.

The biggest difference... I believe Jesus is God and that He came to save the people. I explained, as best I could to someone not natively speaking my language, about how Jesus brought grace, forgiveness. And you know what... it's a pretty incredible thing, to see someone's face as they first hear about forgiveness.

We ended with lots of unanswered questions, and lots of hugs and photos and smiles. And hope. Wedad, because she just may believe that she can be forgiven. And me... I left with hope as I was reminded that my God moves in beautiful motion.