Vision

I could have written more while in Uganda, but I didn’t. At least, not publicly.

I wanted to embrace the fullness of being in solitude, away from everything and everyone I knew. I wanted to breathe in the silence and bask in the serenity of my gorgeous hotel suite. I needed to feel the pain of all that I had lost in the years it had taken me to finally make it to “the motherland” and in the sadness of all that I was being exposed to each day. To expand my vision, I had to be still. Still enough for my vision to become clear, and to embrace the hope of a new chapter slowly emerging before my eyes with each passing moment.

God found me there in Uganda. His presence greeted me each morning as I opened the giant curtains framing the floor-to-high-ceiling windows surrounding my room, gently welcoming each new day for whatever it might bring. Beyond the glass of those beautiful windows, His light seeped between the leaves of the palm trees. It cascaded over the horizon and through the peaks and valleys of the mountains housing the village off in the distance. His presence was in the smile of every Ugandan who made my stay more than welcoming and in the eyes of every creature that greeted me on each safari.

He found me in the seat of the church service I was spontaneously invited to after a night out basking in the thickness of Afrobeats music. He spoke to me through the words of the pastor and said I was there on a mission. Here on Earth, on a mission.

Purpose

Y’all, I don’t know if it’s just me, but I really see so much beauty in the chaos of this world. Even in the hearts of those who’ve hurt my own. And even in that brokenness, there’s beauty. There’s growth, so much growth, waiting to unfold within the cracks of old and fresh wounds.

All my problems didn’t go away when I returned from Uganda. In fact, they sort of imploded.

A few weeks ago, I found myself regretting decisions I made earlier this year. Leaps of faith that weren’t made exclusively on impulse, but also in love. A love so deep it formed a hole in my heart after learning that it was ultimately unrequited. The science nerd in me chooses to recognize that the hole left behind only creates more surface area to love even more deeply some day; to be complemented by the fullness and reciprocity of another.

But being in love isn’t my life’s mission.

It’s only part of it. Loving life and living it fully is also part of it. Living in purpose, however, is the point of it all. And this summer I learned that our purpose isn’t in what we do, but rather in who we become in the process.

What are you seeking? Who are you becoming in that process?

Personally, I’m seeking peace. And each day I allow my eyes, my heart and my mind to search for it. In the process of finding it, I’m becoming more enlightened; closer to God and to who I was always meant to be. The people I’m blessed to meet along the way fascinate me. All our stories, perfectly interweaved with one another, it’s…inspiring.

Many of us are heroes, peacemakers, pillars of stability and catalysts for change. At least that what I see. Even in all our flaws, we’re each here with a unique purpose. A light in someone’s life, even if somewhere along the way we’ve unintentionally brought darkness into another.

After all, nobody’s perfect. I digress.

Uganda shifted my perspective in unexpected ways. I’ve been seeing butterflies everywhere lately and it just serves as a reminder of the growth I’ve been experiencing in this season. As explained in “Different, Yet the Same” all of what I am now has been there all along. It feels good to have space to expand in the ways I was always meant to. The butterfly on my window this morning reminded me of that.

Perspective

As I settle into a new school year with countless weddings, babies, engagements and vacations happening all around me, it helps to remember that what we observe in the lives of others is usually just the tip of the iceberg. And that it’s perfectly okay for us each to shine in our own timing.

Comparison truly is the thief of joy. And lately I’ve realized so is regret. But there’s peace in knowing that whatever we regret is usually just the result of a decision made with the best capacity we had at the time. And the outcome of comparison really depends on who you’re comparing yourself to.

In the past, I’ve reminded classmates who were consistently passing their exams to consider the difference in comparing themselves to a person struggling to pass at all and not just the top-of-the class peer they constantly found themselves comparing their grades to. In my case, I can look to my left and my right at the lives of others and feel left behind because of what society told me I should have accomplished by my age. But then I compare myself to myself. This year versus last year. This season versus the last. And it’s easy to see that I am living in several answered prayers. It’s no one’s responsibility but my own to constantly remind myself of that. The same is likely true for you.

As we look over our shoulders at others, we sometimes forget there’s someone out there still working to achieve everything we have. And wishing for things we were blessed with by birthright, without ever having to exert any effort at all, that they will never have access to. That’s perspective. And Uganda gave me plenty of it.

Reflection

I look at the lights surrounding me and I… remember. Flashbacks of a singular light bulb, with no surrounding light fixture, in the corner of a three-walled restaurant haunt me with memories of its chipped paint and inhospitable washroom out back. A single hanging lightbulb that mirrors the same one found in homes and professional spaces that welcomed me just a few short weeks ago.

I grasp my silverware now and remember the many meals I ate with my hands, cleaned with water poured from a large jug or sprout from the ground. Or a faucet that often took a several moments to produce a slow trickle of cold water.

I pass infrastructure on the street with a new sense of gratefulness for the beauty and stability beyond the windows of my ’07 car. A car I’m grateful to own at all to have free of dust on its exterior and interior. I think about how grateful I am to have no guests to apologize to for a seatbelt that’s unavoidably stained their clothing with dust during our drive.

These days I walk on the paved walkway from my parking space to the building where my classes and labs are held because… well, I can. Because it’s there. I look at my shoes with appreciation for not being covered in dust or hardened cement. I’m grateful they’re able to remain that way for reasons within my control.

Think I might watch a Disney+ movie soon, because I can. Because it is accessible in my country. And add some music to my IG stories because my reliable internet connection allows for it. Take a hot shower because I know the water flowing from it won’t deny me the serenity I desire after a long, full day.

All the lights really are on in here right now, huh? Every hallway. Every floor. And in every room. It’s 9:42pm. It’s just me in this large academic building. The singular lightbulb in my memory dangles slowly, with its daily reminder of a life 7000+ miles away which looks totally different than the one set before me.

Wisdom

A fellow customer greeted me in Hobby Lobby when I dropped off my travel paintings to be canvased. Gray hairs framed her face and a smile ran across it. She took one look at what I was dropping off to be framed, and she knew.

She told me that many decades ago, before I was born, she’d spent 14 months in Kenya. She’d brought home paintings just like mine and eventually gave them away just a few years back in an effort to downsize her life and live more minimally in her small apartment home. She disclosed that her time in Kenya was her inspiration for doing so. And I disclosed that I had met her before and knew that she held a prominent job in leadership at the university I attend.

I’ve been home for two and a half weeks, and that exchange in Hobby Lobby still comforts me. I have a feeling it always will. My four weeks in Uganda to her fourteen months in Kenya seem like a scratch in what she must have seen and experienced in her time in East Africa all those years ago. But the sentiment remains the same. Those memories never left her. The experience is part of her now. Just like mine is part of me. And in that, we are connected.

A elderly man in a scene from a documentary our school had us watch my first week back said he came home from his time overseas wanting to tell his friends and family not to ever complain about anything. One can only imagine the things he saw as a war veteran. His experience is not mine by any means. But our perspectives, they swim in synchronicity.

Direction

I’ll leave this building soon. (And, beyond my control, the lights will remain on.) I’ll go home, and I won’t have to take a cold shower. Both the internet and electricity will work just fine. And neither will require an undetermined wait time and restart due to an outage. I’ll journal with my overhead night light (with a light fixture) and won’t have to stop midway to finish the journal entry with a flashlight. I’ll close my eyes and reflect on my life and all that I look forward to on this continued journey of enlightenment. And all the chapters that led to this one.

My broken heart will mend. My perspective will continue to expand. And I’ll continue to be fascinated with each person I meet, remembering that what I see, and even what they tell me, is only just the tip of the iceberg.

I look forward to revealing more of my own iceberg on a podcast and YouTube Channel extension of Thoughtful Gems, soon.

This year has been a game-changer. And the journey of this beautiful, exciting adventure of a life I’m living continues. I’ve got a feeling its only up from here. 🙂