it's been long. too long.
the dirt has long been washed out of my white pants. the questions are drying up. the passport has made it way to the back of my draw. but the stamp on my heart is still drying.
we can't forget.
the LRA are still strong. in Southern Sudan, reports are making their way out that 250, 000 people have been displaced due to LRA conflict. many of these people are suffering from malnutrition with no access to basic medical facilities.
a top LRA Commander has recently surrended in the Congo. He was the same commander who lead the massacre known as the Christmas Killings, where 143 people were killed and 160 children abducted.
in November the LRA Disarmament and Nothern Uganda Recovery Act will meet to discuss and vote on the US Senate Foreign Affairs Committee.
Monday, August 9, 2010
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Interview with Joseph Kony
It's been a long time since I wrote on here. Nearly a month. It's getting harder to talk about. Uganda. It gets further away. It begins to feel like a memory.
I watched this clip this afternoon. It reminded me why we are there. And the need for constant prayer, awareness and support for Northern Uganda.
Joseph Kony is the leader of the LRA. As you watch this clip you will see how completely lost and deluded he is. It becomes even more apparent the level of prayer that is needed for the people of Northern Uganda, DRC and Sudan as he spreads out across the continent of Africa.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VAhzStgNeGw&feature=related
I watched this clip this afternoon. It reminded me why we are there. And the need for constant prayer, awareness and support for Northern Uganda.
Joseph Kony is the leader of the LRA. As you watch this clip you will see how completely lost and deluded he is. It becomes even more apparent the level of prayer that is needed for the people of Northern Uganda, DRC and Sudan as he spreads out across the continent of Africa.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VAhzStgNeGw&feature=related
Sunday, June 20, 2010
I. Heart. Alice.
do you hate blocked numbers as much as i do? that fear of who is going to be breathing down the other end. you toy with answering the call or not. i always do. my curiosity gets the better of me.
a blocked call came through at 10:30 last night. upon my hello? i was greeted with silence. and then in a thick African accent that has become a sweet tune to my ears, "Beeeeetttt. How are you? It's Alice".
Alice Achan. my hero. the women who is changing the world she lives in.
we fell in love with Alice. she is at least 6'2" and walks with strength and graciousness. she is the daughter of the chief of the Acholi tribe. the tribe who has been oppressed and attacked by LRA activity. she is the women our church connects with. her school, CCF takes in girls who are ex-LRA child brides and other girls at risk in their communities and villages. many of them with babies.
i feel incredibly privilege to have spent just a few weeks with her. you can't help but grow in wisdom and conviction for the freedom of the Acholi people.
Alice Achan
Alice asked us girls to cook
dinner on our last night in her home.
We spent the day walking through the markets
dinner on our last night in her home.
We spent the day walking through the markets
and learning how to cook over hot coals.
Monday, June 14, 2010
MTN. official world cup sponsor. we watched the game this morning, at 4am. Aus vs. Germany. i won't even bother commenting.
surrounding the field however were the letters MTN. completely meaningless to most of the spectators cramped into the tiny lounge room covered in blankets. to three of us girls it meant so much.
connecting people. the mobile company throughout the continent of Africa everyone relied on. and the provider that almost had us stuck in Pader an extra weekend because it's server was down the morning we needed to call and confirm our flight out. (i've either already blogged about that, or will at a later date).
so there we were, in an apartment in Sydney, rugged up and with our friends again, remembering the war-torn village we spent 2 weeks in and the MTN huts that had popped up everywhere.
Monday, June 7, 2010
tin doors and chapatti
our comings and goings seem far gone.
the moment our tiny tin plane landed on the dirt dessert run way, avoiding goats.
our first toilet experience. out the back of a cafe. 3 squats with tin doors. i'm pretty sure i got the number 2's toilet.
the first hour in pader feels years ago. looking back i feel like i was still wearing a blindfold.
suddenly i am here. at a desk. in the city. wishing for a baby in my arms. or to be pumping water with the girls. or to (and i never thought i would say these words) be eating beans and chapatti in a black out.
the moment our tiny tin plane landed on the dirt dessert run way, avoiding goats.
our first toilet experience. out the back of a cafe. 3 squats with tin doors. i'm pretty sure i got the number 2's toilet.
the first hour in pader feels years ago. looking back i feel like i was still wearing a blindfold.
suddenly i am here. at a desk. in the city. wishing for a baby in my arms. or to be pumping water with the girls. or to (and i never thought i would say these words) be eating beans and chapatti in a black out.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
friday night lights (and thunder)
i’d rather wait and have the darkness than run into an ambush of broken dreams.
it is raining today. it has been raining for two weeks. on Monday I had a sick day. i lay in bed with candles and Vampire Diaries as i watched the sheets of rain torrent down. i felt safe.
this week marks my 5th week back. it went fast. it was this long since i left Sydney and found myself at the end of my London adventures.
the holding pattern i’ve succumbed to is more like a gentle, slow lullaby of boredom. rocking my brain and heart to sleep.
we slope quickly into winter and seasonal depression sneaks upon us. i won't loose my joy this winter. i will in the face of sadness.
soy chai in hand i will read Victor Hugo's Les Miz. standing under my umbrella i will watch the lights of the harbour twinkle against the water.
i'll eventually find fairy lights (they're actually really hard to find) and hang them round my room. i will buy cool frames and continue filling up my point rooved walls with vintage pictures and Paris.
i'll debut my play at a commercial theatre and get a standing ovation. i will take my lomo off my desk and capture sponteneaty. i will stop wishing for Camden markets and Basel days.
i will remember my African sisters and son. x
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
my dreams are the confussion and sadness imbedded behind my trying-to-forgetness.
adventures between countries trying to prolong the 18th of April. the preparation of leaving. and then the not. the unpacking. the trying to find a headscraf or clean bra in the deep bag. the trying to process where we have been. and how we can go so quickly from a place still drenched in war and blood to a place shrouded in romance and art.
this is the contradiction of life. and the developed and developing world. we war between ourselves trying to justify why and how.
for a moment atop a snow mountian in Germany I glimpsed peace. reconsiliation. understanding. as quickly as I ran down that powdery mountian to the car, it was gone. the war we left seems to have snuck into my heart. it is a raging silent war (please read this).
the mark of greatness is brokeness. someone great once said this.
maybe it's the greatness that somehow comes from humility and we will never understand it. this brokeness doesn't feel like greatness.
adventures between countries trying to prolong the 18th of April. the preparation of leaving. and then the not. the unpacking. the trying to find a headscraf or clean bra in the deep bag. the trying to process where we have been. and how we can go so quickly from a place still drenched in war and blood to a place shrouded in romance and art.
this is the contradiction of life. and the developed and developing world. we war between ourselves trying to justify why and how.
for a moment atop a snow mountian in Germany I glimpsed peace. reconsiliation. understanding. as quickly as I ran down that powdery mountian to the car, it was gone. the war we left seems to have snuck into my heart. it is a raging silent war (please read this).
the mark of greatness is brokeness. someone great once said this.
maybe it's the greatness that somehow comes from humility and we will never understand it. this brokeness doesn't feel like greatness.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
make believe in black and white
colour is too much. the light is blinding and the red reminds you of joy. so we make believe in black and white. it seems long gone this way. the memory not so imminent.
you place distance and barriers. you hope for interest from significant others. you plead for an absence of meaningful dreams. you stare longingly at articles pertaining to your experience. you live in a contradictory balance. like sleep walking. halfway between awake and sleeping.
you try to justify this absence of emotion. or the tears that spring unromantically while you wait for your coffee at 8:59am. the rain hitting you from under your umbrella reminds you of truth. it is staring you in the face. full of colour. the red dirt road is a black and white image left to gather dust. it sits behind the memory of climbing apple trees and running low on soy milk. it is confused.
so you walk forward and the weeks have gone by too fast. but that is ok. the further you get away from it, the easier it may become. you hope.
and then someone mentions it, or you hear of a strangers similar experience, and the word leaving or goodbye pulls at the barely healed scab.
remember us. never forget.
i made up the word unromantically.
you place distance and barriers. you hope for interest from significant others. you plead for an absence of meaningful dreams. you stare longingly at articles pertaining to your experience. you live in a contradictory balance. like sleep walking. halfway between awake and sleeping.
you try to justify this absence of emotion. or the tears that spring unromantically while you wait for your coffee at 8:59am. the rain hitting you from under your umbrella reminds you of truth. it is staring you in the face. full of colour. the red dirt road is a black and white image left to gather dust. it sits behind the memory of climbing apple trees and running low on soy milk. it is confused.
so you walk forward and the weeks have gone by too fast. but that is ok. the further you get away from it, the easier it may become. you hope.
and then someone mentions it, or you hear of a strangers similar experience, and the word leaving or goodbye pulls at the barely healed scab.
remember us. never forget.
i made up the word unromantically.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
storming last days.
it's our last day in Pader. Millie, Bree and I are half way through painting the concrete slab where the babies and toddlers spend their days under a thatched roof with the babysitters. we are covered in paint. the stark whiteness is under our nails and in our hair. there are no turps and our scrubbing brushes are worn out from weeks of trying to achieve unmuddied feet.
our days here have blurred into moments, and they are all we have left. as shapeless memories imprinted in our minds, written in our journals and occasionally documented in our camera's. it will never be enough.
we set out with a mission today. to paint the 'childcare centre'. the dull concrete does not excite and enthuse imagination. so three white girls with less than 24 hours to spare buy paint and find paint brushes. most are hardened from not being rinsed. i manage to get one working, while Bree tries her luck with a roller. Millie who has had no luck, is using a seal stuffed toy to blot her way along the 60cm high wall. the paint is going to our heads. i've made sure the babies are all out of the way. most are sleeping in a small hut. it's nap time and like we once did in kindy, they sleep after lunch, though here it is on the bare concrete.
i've been carrying Elvis all day. i don't want to put him down. he's fallen asleep in my arms. he clings to my arm as i try to lay him on the ground next to the other babies. out comes the thumb from his mouth and with his eyes closed, he makes a whimpering sound, searching for me. i hold him a little longer. i'm going to fail at being a good mother who puts her babies to bed on time.
we paint for what feels like hours. it feels like hours when it has only been 45 minutes because it's so damn hot. we stop to head back for lunch and a nap, since everyone insists we have afternoon sleeps. (we think they think we can't handle the heat. we don't like to admit, they're right).
our last lunch in Pader. Stevie brings out chips and beans. we've asked for no more cabbage. there is only so much cabbage one can handle. Stevie smiles broadly at us; we going to miss you!
we smile, feel a tear or two burning our eyes and promise to be back. we've been told not to promise, but we do anyway. we will be back. it's more of a comforting promise to ourselves.
i can see storm clouds rolling in from where i sit. i grab my camera and we head up to the unfinished roof. click. click. click. still experimenting with new apertures and effects. before we know it, a storm has set in. we're not going anywhere for a few hours.
we pack, unwillingly, and pray our washing dries in the moist air. we lie on the bed and eat the last few pieces of chocolate and Vegemite dips. we watch Friends on Bree's ipod, and give each other massages. the storm is still raging outside. we resort to plan B. we will pay some people to finish painting the childcare centre.
when the rain finally eases we head to the markets with our friend Fiona. she walks us through the stalls picking out the right vegetables. we chose egg plant and ginger. a little too excited that we get to cook our own meal tonight. small things excite us these days.
thongs stuck in quick sand, men watching indiscreetly from near by stalls and the smell of fresh rain. we are feeling the longing for Pader before we have even left.
we spend the night at Alice's house with our Canadian friends, cooking dinner, drinking ginger tea with fresh honey and laughing and dreaming of making our return and all we will do. there is no electricity, so candles burn softly, making the warm yellow walls glow. Alice sits on the mat, smiling. i feel so much pride that i have had the privilege to meet and get to know this amazing women. anytime i don't feel like fighting my battles, hers is the face that will come to mind. brave and beautiful Alice.
(yes there are more made up words in this entry. deal. i'm the next Shakespeare).
our days here have blurred into moments, and they are all we have left. as shapeless memories imprinted in our minds, written in our journals and occasionally documented in our camera's. it will never be enough.
we set out with a mission today. to paint the 'childcare centre'. the dull concrete does not excite and enthuse imagination. so three white girls with less than 24 hours to spare buy paint and find paint brushes. most are hardened from not being rinsed. i manage to get one working, while Bree tries her luck with a roller. Millie who has had no luck, is using a seal stuffed toy to blot her way along the 60cm high wall. the paint is going to our heads. i've made sure the babies are all out of the way. most are sleeping in a small hut. it's nap time and like we once did in kindy, they sleep after lunch, though here it is on the bare concrete.
i've been carrying Elvis all day. i don't want to put him down. he's fallen asleep in my arms. he clings to my arm as i try to lay him on the ground next to the other babies. out comes the thumb from his mouth and with his eyes closed, he makes a whimpering sound, searching for me. i hold him a little longer. i'm going to fail at being a good mother who puts her babies to bed on time.
we paint for what feels like hours. it feels like hours when it has only been 45 minutes because it's so damn hot. we stop to head back for lunch and a nap, since everyone insists we have afternoon sleeps. (we think they think we can't handle the heat. we don't like to admit, they're right).
our last lunch in Pader. Stevie brings out chips and beans. we've asked for no more cabbage. there is only so much cabbage one can handle. Stevie smiles broadly at us; we going to miss you!
we smile, feel a tear or two burning our eyes and promise to be back. we've been told not to promise, but we do anyway. we will be back. it's more of a comforting promise to ourselves.
i can see storm clouds rolling in from where i sit. i grab my camera and we head up to the unfinished roof. click. click. click. still experimenting with new apertures and effects. before we know it, a storm has set in. we're not going anywhere for a few hours.
we pack, unwillingly, and pray our washing dries in the moist air. we lie on the bed and eat the last few pieces of chocolate and Vegemite dips. we watch Friends on Bree's ipod, and give each other massages. the storm is still raging outside. we resort to plan B. we will pay some people to finish painting the childcare centre.
when the rain finally eases we head to the markets with our friend Fiona. she walks us through the stalls picking out the right vegetables. we chose egg plant and ginger. a little too excited that we get to cook our own meal tonight. small things excite us these days.
thongs stuck in quick sand, men watching indiscreetly from near by stalls and the smell of fresh rain. we are feeling the longing for Pader before we have even left.
we spend the night at Alice's house with our Canadian friends, cooking dinner, drinking ginger tea with fresh honey and laughing and dreaming of making our return and all we will do. there is no electricity, so candles burn softly, making the warm yellow walls glow. Alice sits on the mat, smiling. i feel so much pride that i have had the privilege to meet and get to know this amazing women. anytime i don't feel like fighting my battles, hers is the face that will come to mind. brave and beautiful Alice.
(yes there are more made up words in this entry. deal. i'm the next Shakespeare).
we run from the places that we call safe
hiding. someone just asked me where i have been hiding.
i've been hiding in pictures and books. processing and attempting to formulate an understanding. as if understanding can be formulated. i should be waiting for an epiphany.
hiding is something the youth and children of Northern Uganda understand. i thought i understood hiding well. turns out hiding in western society pertains to a game of hide-&-seek in the play ground or avoiding an argument with friends or becoming inactive on facebook. i get asked where i've been hiding if i've missed a party or two.
hiding in uganda is a game of life and death. children at the age of 4 were sent to the bush and tall grasses to hide from the LRA. if they were found, a new game would begin. one of fear, torture and most likely death.
George used to hide. till he was 12 years old he slept in the bush with his friends. they slept spread out, hoping if one of them was found, the others would have a chance at a silent escape.
one night, as the rain pelted his tired, un-sleeping body, he decided he was tired of the hiding game. without a word to his brothers in the grass he walked home to his village.
i didn't care. if the LRA take me, they take me!
he was home for 45 minutes before the LRA came walking through his village. as his mum and grandma hid in their mud hut, one of the soldiers saw George and commanded him to show them the way to the next village. with confidence and an unnerving bravery, George walked with the LRA, boy his age, brainwashed to kill mercilessly, for 2 hours to their destination. upon arrival at the next village, the head soldier told George he could leave. stories like this are unheard of. once you are in LRA captivity, you are either made to kill or be killed. someone was watching out for George. he turned around and headed home.
i asked him if he turned and ran as fast as he could. he said;
no, i just walk. as if he was returning home from the store with a loaf of bread. so calm and casual.
after that George had 2 more encounters with the LRA and knows many of his friends who have been captured by them. now at 27 George has an amazing story of God's hand upon his life, he is actively involved in his local church doing youth ministry and visits the local prison in Kitgum to share and encourage the prisoners.
while we were in Kitgum, we could be sure to walk out of our rooms each morning and find baseball capped head and huge smile waiting for us. he took us to the village or to visit families, always willing to answer our curious questions.
his story is just one of many stories of strength and bravery we encountered in these people. strength and dignity mark them. their love for Jesus and unrestrained worship pierce my heart with regret for my own apathy.
the Acholi people no longer need to hide who they are. they are free to return from IDP's, sleep in their huts and villages, regrow their agriculture and worship. healing and regrowth is still in baby stages as they recover from a 21 year war, but the game is over. the light is flooding the land.
yes i did make up the word unsleeping.
i've been hiding in pictures and books. processing and attempting to formulate an understanding. as if understanding can be formulated. i should be waiting for an epiphany.
hiding is something the youth and children of Northern Uganda understand. i thought i understood hiding well. turns out hiding in western society pertains to a game of hide-&-seek in the play ground or avoiding an argument with friends or becoming inactive on facebook. i get asked where i've been hiding if i've missed a party or two.
hiding in uganda is a game of life and death. children at the age of 4 were sent to the bush and tall grasses to hide from the LRA. if they were found, a new game would begin. one of fear, torture and most likely death.
George used to hide. till he was 12 years old he slept in the bush with his friends. they slept spread out, hoping if one of them was found, the others would have a chance at a silent escape.
one night, as the rain pelted his tired, un-sleeping body, he decided he was tired of the hiding game. without a word to his brothers in the grass he walked home to his village.
i didn't care. if the LRA take me, they take me!
he was home for 45 minutes before the LRA came walking through his village. as his mum and grandma hid in their mud hut, one of the soldiers saw George and commanded him to show them the way to the next village. with confidence and an unnerving bravery, George walked with the LRA, boy his age, brainwashed to kill mercilessly, for 2 hours to their destination. upon arrival at the next village, the head soldier told George he could leave. stories like this are unheard of. once you are in LRA captivity, you are either made to kill or be killed. someone was watching out for George. he turned around and headed home.
i asked him if he turned and ran as fast as he could. he said;
no, i just walk. as if he was returning home from the store with a loaf of bread. so calm and casual.
after that George had 2 more encounters with the LRA and knows many of his friends who have been captured by them. now at 27 George has an amazing story of God's hand upon his life, he is actively involved in his local church doing youth ministry and visits the local prison in Kitgum to share and encourage the prisoners.
while we were in Kitgum, we could be sure to walk out of our rooms each morning and find baseball capped head and huge smile waiting for us. he took us to the village or to visit families, always willing to answer our curious questions.
his story is just one of many stories of strength and bravery we encountered in these people. strength and dignity mark them. their love for Jesus and unrestrained worship pierce my heart with regret for my own apathy.
the Acholi people no longer need to hide who they are. they are free to return from IDP's, sleep in their huts and villages, regrow their agriculture and worship. healing and regrowth is still in baby stages as they recover from a 21 year war, but the game is over. the light is flooding the land.
yes i did make up the word unsleeping.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Mimco & Sand Storms
DSC00161, originally uploaded by http://www.flickr.com/people/49911439@N02/.
It is harder. Being here. Home.
In Europe, I was so busy seeing and doing, I couldn't think. Now I remember.
You know that feeling when you break up with someone, and you can't listen to certain music? I can't listen to Mumford and Sons. After The Storm throws me back into imagery of driving down red dirt roads 4 girls squashed into the backseat, my head banging on the door frame as we go over the bumps. The whole road is bumps.
I claimed my time in Europe as debrief. But it was running. Being here, people ask about it. At church they talk about it. And I have to show my parents my photo's.
It's easier to feel cynicism than anything else.
Shane Clairborne, The Irresistible Revolution.
The more I think about, the more I realise how completely different worlds are. I have left one world where death and fear are a constant mindset, to live in a world where Fashion Week makes news headlines and we complain about our high paying jobs.
Circumstances are relevant to worldview and interpretation. I'm trying to filter my shifted and shattered worldview from offending mindsets I'm surrounded by. And not sounding arrogant.
In Europe, I was so busy seeing and doing, I couldn't think. Now I remember.
You know that feeling when you break up with someone, and you can't listen to certain music? I can't listen to Mumford and Sons. After The Storm throws me back into imagery of driving down red dirt roads 4 girls squashed into the backseat, my head banging on the door frame as we go over the bumps. The whole road is bumps.
I claimed my time in Europe as debrief. But it was running. Being here, people ask about it. At church they talk about it. And I have to show my parents my photo's.
It's easier to feel cynicism than anything else.
Shane Clairborne, The Irresistible Revolution.
The more I think about, the more I realise how completely different worlds are. I have left one world where death and fear are a constant mindset, to live in a world where Fashion Week makes news headlines and we complain about our high paying jobs.
Circumstances are relevant to worldview and interpretation. I'm trying to filter my shifted and shattered worldview from offending mindsets I'm surrounded by. And not sounding arrogant.
The thing is, I don't know more. I've just seen things. And that changes you. I can't help who I've become, and sometimes I don't like it. I wish I could discuss the Romance Was Born fashion show with excitement and critique like everyone else. And spend a few hundred dollars on a new Mimco bag because, hey, I work hard and I deserve it. (Please note: I still understand the need to purchase Mimco bags and wallets upon occasion.)
So this blog will be homage to the adventure that destroyed me. I don't really care who, if anyone reads it. But if you are, read it knowing this is my opinion and interpretation of the places I have been and things I have seen. And I'll say it how I want, and try to keep the truth as raw as possible.
So this blog will be homage to the adventure that destroyed me. I don't really care who, if anyone reads it. But if you are, read it knowing this is my opinion and interpretation of the places I have been and things I have seen. And I'll say it how I want, and try to keep the truth as raw as possible.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Tear Drops and Red Wine
We hit it. The low.
Perhaps it's the realisation of how long we are actually here for setting in. We've inhabited friends' apparetment in Wimbeldon while they ferry then drive to Switzerland. The feeling of cooking dinner and watching TV like normal human beings feels strange, surreal. Something reserved for our own homes. Yet here we are in London, doing it. Purchasing groceries with more than a few days in mind. Planning trips and catch ups with friends, not just with the purpose of slotting in moments but instead filling time.
And maybe it was when we were carrying out 20kg of our life on our back through the trains and buses, with pitty glances from fellow travellers that set us off. The look in their eye. They wondered. Are we stuck? Yes, we answered to a few daring starers. Telling them our story made us feel less alone. A burden shared is a burden halved they always say. Non of these lovely people could actually do anything about it, but just knowing we'd told someone else validated our loneliness.
We have hot showers and write on facebook to make the minutes seem less mundane. We avoid the news and only glance at it momentarily.
There was some relief tonight. UK airports are opening again. Maybe this time next week we'll be in transit. Asia would even be better than this. This sitting and waiting and not knowing. But there is still fear and doubt. Will it erupt again? Or will the other one explode? The world feels like it is peering over the edge. I want to be home before we all fall.
Most of me wants to write about Africa. I wish I could. Not yet I suppose. Maybe tomorrow, maybe next week.
I've seen Les Mis twice since being here. There is a line in Empty Chairs at Empty Tables that says;
there's a grief that can't be spoken.
That is what Pader is to those who have experienced it. A grief that can't be spoken. Because speaking about it should validate it, and nothing can. Nothing will ever give justice to what we saw or experienced. And especially to how it changed us.
So instead I'll say we had a lovely day at the seaside at Brighton yesterday and on the way home saw a fight. It included bike throughing, lots of yelling, 2 white guys, 1 black...and a huge butchers knife. I freaked out of course and ran to the other side of the intersection with 20 other people as 5 police cars pulled up. I made us walk home quickly as we watched the policeman chase the fighters down the streets. At least another 25 police cars made there way to the scene over the next 2 hours. We suspect we saw the iceberg of a much deeper and bigger event. It kept our minds worried and preoccupied for a few hours.
Must hit the bed now. Another new bed. I'm excited for this one. It includes a breakfast in the morning chosen and made by me. A noveltly. Something that hasn't happened for 2 months.
Love from Wimbeldon.
Perhaps it's the realisation of how long we are actually here for setting in. We've inhabited friends' apparetment in Wimbeldon while they ferry then drive to Switzerland. The feeling of cooking dinner and watching TV like normal human beings feels strange, surreal. Something reserved for our own homes. Yet here we are in London, doing it. Purchasing groceries with more than a few days in mind. Planning trips and catch ups with friends, not just with the purpose of slotting in moments but instead filling time.
And maybe it was when we were carrying out 20kg of our life on our back through the trains and buses, with pitty glances from fellow travellers that set us off. The look in their eye. They wondered. Are we stuck? Yes, we answered to a few daring starers. Telling them our story made us feel less alone. A burden shared is a burden halved they always say. Non of these lovely people could actually do anything about it, but just knowing we'd told someone else validated our loneliness.
We have hot showers and write on facebook to make the minutes seem less mundane. We avoid the news and only glance at it momentarily.
There was some relief tonight. UK airports are opening again. Maybe this time next week we'll be in transit. Asia would even be better than this. This sitting and waiting and not knowing. But there is still fear and doubt. Will it erupt again? Or will the other one explode? The world feels like it is peering over the edge. I want to be home before we all fall.
Most of me wants to write about Africa. I wish I could. Not yet I suppose. Maybe tomorrow, maybe next week.
I've seen Les Mis twice since being here. There is a line in Empty Chairs at Empty Tables that says;
there's a grief that can't be spoken.
That is what Pader is to those who have experienced it. A grief that can't be spoken. Because speaking about it should validate it, and nothing can. Nothing will ever give justice to what we saw or experienced. And especially to how it changed us.
So instead I'll say we had a lovely day at the seaside at Brighton yesterday and on the way home saw a fight. It included bike throughing, lots of yelling, 2 white guys, 1 black...and a huge butchers knife. I freaked out of course and ran to the other side of the intersection with 20 other people as 5 police cars pulled up. I made us walk home quickly as we watched the policeman chase the fighters down the streets. At least another 25 police cars made there way to the scene over the next 2 hours. We suspect we saw the iceberg of a much deeper and bigger event. It kept our minds worried and preoccupied for a few hours.
Must hit the bed now. Another new bed. I'm excited for this one. It includes a breakfast in the morning chosen and made by me. A noveltly. Something that hasn't happened for 2 months.
Love from Wimbeldon.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
News papers in Parisian Cafe's.
Day 3 of being stuck in London.
The situation is worsening and whilst sitting in a Parisian cafe across the road from our B&B we read that it could be months the disruptions persist for.
I thought about the worst case scenario and realised, this is probably it. We have no idea how long we will be here for.
I sent dad a joke text saying we might catch a train across Russia and fly back from China. He said that was actually a good option. Or the south of Italy was another one. So the adventure continues.
After 6 weeks of almost missing flights, almost not being able to fly due to stomach cramps, having passports taken by Middle Eastern men at the airport, hospital visits, and countless train rides and flights we are ready for something simple.
But alas, at least we can come home with some interesting stories and perhaps some good material for a story/movie/novel/song.
Angus and Julia Stone are playing a gig down the end of our street on Thursday. Since I missed them in March cause I was in a dessert in Africa, I think we might try get tickets. That is if they can even get here.
We sit in our beds and laugh, or while we're walking through Soho, turn to each other and comment through giggles of unbelief, 'we're stranded in London'. And then we think of the people who need to get home urgently, or are sleeping on an airport floor, travelling by them self and feeling very much alone.
Yesterday sitting in this same internet cafe 3 girls sat on computers behind us, one of them crying as they realised they two were stuck here. When we see other people on the train or in the street dragging a suitcase behind them, we feel like saying 'we know how you feel'.
So the next stage may include Russia or Italy or Germany or a long stay in a b&b in London that can hardly fit the two of us and our 23kg of luggage that is spewed out over our barely there floor, like a volcano.
Sending love from a very chaotic London. xx
The situation is worsening and whilst sitting in a Parisian cafe across the road from our B&B we read that it could be months the disruptions persist for.
I thought about the worst case scenario and realised, this is probably it. We have no idea how long we will be here for.
I sent dad a joke text saying we might catch a train across Russia and fly back from China. He said that was actually a good option. Or the south of Italy was another one. So the adventure continues.
After 6 weeks of almost missing flights, almost not being able to fly due to stomach cramps, having passports taken by Middle Eastern men at the airport, hospital visits, and countless train rides and flights we are ready for something simple.
But alas, at least we can come home with some interesting stories and perhaps some good material for a story/movie/novel/song.
Angus and Julia Stone are playing a gig down the end of our street on Thursday. Since I missed them in March cause I was in a dessert in Africa, I think we might try get tickets. That is if they can even get here.
We sit in our beds and laugh, or while we're walking through Soho, turn to each other and comment through giggles of unbelief, 'we're stranded in London'. And then we think of the people who need to get home urgently, or are sleeping on an airport floor, travelling by them self and feeling very much alone.
Yesterday sitting in this same internet cafe 3 girls sat on computers behind us, one of them crying as they realised they two were stuck here. When we see other people on the train or in the street dragging a suitcase behind them, we feel like saying 'we know how you feel'.
So the next stage may include Russia or Italy or Germany or a long stay in a b&b in London that can hardly fit the two of us and our 23kg of luggage that is spewed out over our barely there floor, like a volcano.
Sending love from a very chaotic London. xx
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Leopard Print and Volcanic Smoke
3rd internet cafe in the last 24 hours.
Our emotions are like a Pirate Ship at a fair. We decide one moment to embrace a forced stay in London, with faith in our insurance company that accomodation, transport and food will be reimbursed, then penduluming to the next extreme of worry and homesickness as we realise it could be a whole week before anything happens.
But what better time than to update on our adventure. And I feel Paris is an appropriate city to write about right now.
The first night we were in Paris, Millie and I, and 7 other people from all over the world (2 guys from Scottland, another Aussie girl, an Irish girl, someone from India and 2 American girls with annoying accents) sat on our bunks and couch. I muttered to Millie " I always thought that my first night in Paris would be with my lover in a boutique hotel on the Champs Elysee". Everyone else heard of course since there was barely any room to even breathe. Some rolled their eyes, other agreed.
The fact of the matter was, we had booked our hostel months ago, paid a small fee and gotten a great deal. We could see the Eiffel Tower from our window and had a kitchen (which is a luxury when on the go all the time). Millie, Amanda (the occa Aussie) and I had gone out for a Parisian dinner at a resturant complete with crepes and French Red Wine, only to return to find out room of 6 packed with 9 people. Not to mention the couple who were in the private room. There had been a 'glitch' in the system and we were cramming a group of foreigners together for a cozy night in the 'most romantic city in the world'.
The bed I had claimed (with a view) had been claimed by a new girl, the Irish girl with a lazy eye. She had placed my journal, camera and jewelery carelessly on the fold out sofa and decided that she would get the bed and Millie and I would sleep on the most comfortable 'bed' of our lives.
A month in Africa and I had not experienced this level of discomfort. I went to bed at 12:30 hoping the 6 people sitting up talking crap would take the hint and do the same. An airoplane eye mask and my Drift music drowned out some of the conversation which mulled around travel experiences and know-it-alls trying to out do each other. Millie and I slept for about 2 hours, falling into the middle of the mattress and waking up with remarkable back pains.
We spent the day wandering through the Louvre. It was magical. The Mona Lisa had to be seen however fighting for a good photo was like trying to get the front of a John Mayer concert. The Japanese were the worst offenders for pushing and shoving.
We walked through the wings and marvelled more at the rooves and oppulance than the paintings. Napoleans appartment took my breath away. Gold lined walls and chandeliers lined the ceilings.
We made our way to Notre Dame to climb it and received a call from the lady who ran the hostel informing us we wouldn't be getting out own beds. Another night like the night before and I would officially hate Paris. Wotif.com saved us and we booked in for a HOTEL! (a novelty on this trip) in Montmare, down the road from the Moulin Rouge and once the centre of all Bohemian activity.
We found out later that the Scottish guys had been staying a few extra nights longer, and not paid and had done a runner that morning when they realised the situation. Lovely how 2 guys could knowingly sleep in our beds while we suffered on the couch. Well we had our refund and were staying in a room with bright pink and green walls. A truly chic boutique hotel.
That night we went to the Eiffel tower. Seeing it for the first time took our breath away (we have a video). We climbed it, had dinner watching the sunset over it and took more photos as it glistened in the night. It truly is amazing.
The next day we saw Paris. From Sacre Coure to the cafe Amelie was filmed in. We walked through Musee d Orsay (favourite gallery ever!) and climbed Notre Dame, pretending to be Esmerelda and Quasimodo. We had a picnic in a park on the Champs Elysee and walked in the spring shower as the sunset over Arch d Triomph. Finally back at Montmare we found a gorgeous wine bar full of artists and professors and 2 guys playing guitar. We shared a bottle of French red and celebrated our last night on this adventure together (or so we thought).
Paris was amazing. Scary in the metro, dirty in most places, but when the sun set over the city and fell upon those beautiful stone walls, you understood why it was the city of love.
Paris, je t'iame.
(If you can speak French don't judge my spelling). x
Our emotions are like a Pirate Ship at a fair. We decide one moment to embrace a forced stay in London, with faith in our insurance company that accomodation, transport and food will be reimbursed, then penduluming to the next extreme of worry and homesickness as we realise it could be a whole week before anything happens.
But what better time than to update on our adventure. And I feel Paris is an appropriate city to write about right now.
The first night we were in Paris, Millie and I, and 7 other people from all over the world (2 guys from Scottland, another Aussie girl, an Irish girl, someone from India and 2 American girls with annoying accents) sat on our bunks and couch. I muttered to Millie " I always thought that my first night in Paris would be with my lover in a boutique hotel on the Champs Elysee". Everyone else heard of course since there was barely any room to even breathe. Some rolled their eyes, other agreed.
The fact of the matter was, we had booked our hostel months ago, paid a small fee and gotten a great deal. We could see the Eiffel Tower from our window and had a kitchen (which is a luxury when on the go all the time). Millie, Amanda (the occa Aussie) and I had gone out for a Parisian dinner at a resturant complete with crepes and French Red Wine, only to return to find out room of 6 packed with 9 people. Not to mention the couple who were in the private room. There had been a 'glitch' in the system and we were cramming a group of foreigners together for a cozy night in the 'most romantic city in the world'.
The bed I had claimed (with a view) had been claimed by a new girl, the Irish girl with a lazy eye. She had placed my journal, camera and jewelery carelessly on the fold out sofa and decided that she would get the bed and Millie and I would sleep on the most comfortable 'bed' of our lives.
A month in Africa and I had not experienced this level of discomfort. I went to bed at 12:30 hoping the 6 people sitting up talking crap would take the hint and do the same. An airoplane eye mask and my Drift music drowned out some of the conversation which mulled around travel experiences and know-it-alls trying to out do each other. Millie and I slept for about 2 hours, falling into the middle of the mattress and waking up with remarkable back pains.
We spent the day wandering through the Louvre. It was magical. The Mona Lisa had to be seen however fighting for a good photo was like trying to get the front of a John Mayer concert. The Japanese were the worst offenders for pushing and shoving.
We walked through the wings and marvelled more at the rooves and oppulance than the paintings. Napoleans appartment took my breath away. Gold lined walls and chandeliers lined the ceilings.
We made our way to Notre Dame to climb it and received a call from the lady who ran the hostel informing us we wouldn't be getting out own beds. Another night like the night before and I would officially hate Paris. Wotif.com saved us and we booked in for a HOTEL! (a novelty on this trip) in Montmare, down the road from the Moulin Rouge and once the centre of all Bohemian activity.
We found out later that the Scottish guys had been staying a few extra nights longer, and not paid and had done a runner that morning when they realised the situation. Lovely how 2 guys could knowingly sleep in our beds while we suffered on the couch. Well we had our refund and were staying in a room with bright pink and green walls. A truly chic boutique hotel.
That night we went to the Eiffel tower. Seeing it for the first time took our breath away (we have a video). We climbed it, had dinner watching the sunset over it and took more photos as it glistened in the night. It truly is amazing.
The next day we saw Paris. From Sacre Coure to the cafe Amelie was filmed in. We walked through Musee d Orsay (favourite gallery ever!) and climbed Notre Dame, pretending to be Esmerelda and Quasimodo. We had a picnic in a park on the Champs Elysee and walked in the spring shower as the sunset over Arch d Triomph. Finally back at Montmare we found a gorgeous wine bar full of artists and professors and 2 guys playing guitar. We shared a bottle of French red and celebrated our last night on this adventure together (or so we thought).
Paris was amazing. Scary in the metro, dirty in most places, but when the sun set over the city and fell upon those beautiful stone walls, you understood why it was the city of love.
Paris, je t'iame.
(If you can speak French don't judge my spelling). x
Friday, April 16, 2010
London Eye and Volcanic Dust
Lost in translation, Millie and I blissfully caught buses, looked through museums and climbed monuments yesterday, all with the mindset that this would be our last night together.
After a picnic in the gardens of Champs Elysees, a stroll down to the Arc de Triomphe at sunset and a bottle of French Vin in a small bar raging with intellects and cute guitarists in Montmare, dad called. "Do you want the good news or bad news?"
This was the first time we heard about the Volcano in Ice Land. It is bliss when you can walk around a city for a day completely ignorant of a world issue that is grounding international flights worse than 9/11.
The good news was that I might spend another night in London. The bad was that my flight would probably be delayed. Him and mum were calling from the Business Lounge on their way to meet me in Singapore.
A 7am train (which we made on by the skin of our teeth - long lines and asking other non French speaking tourists what a)our ticket said and b) if this was the right line) we arrived in London and I still held hope that I would fly out at 915pm. On the tube we heard 2 announcements:
1. The central line is currently suspended due to a person under the train. We appologise for the inconvenience.
2. Flights out of all London airports are suspended until 1pm tomorrow.
The next few hours play out as such;
1pm-2:15pm on hold to British Airways (£20 for the call) and eventually I simply got disconnected.
3pm on the London Eye receive email that flight is cancelled.
5pm walked through London to find a British Airways office, and instead find this internet cafe and no solution.
Could be here till Wednesday. Must update about Paris but running out of time.
Love x
After a picnic in the gardens of Champs Elysees, a stroll down to the Arc de Triomphe at sunset and a bottle of French Vin in a small bar raging with intellects and cute guitarists in Montmare, dad called. "Do you want the good news or bad news?"
This was the first time we heard about the Volcano in Ice Land. It is bliss when you can walk around a city for a day completely ignorant of a world issue that is grounding international flights worse than 9/11.
The good news was that I might spend another night in London. The bad was that my flight would probably be delayed. Him and mum were calling from the Business Lounge on their way to meet me in Singapore.
A 7am train (which we made on by the skin of our teeth - long lines and asking other non French speaking tourists what a)our ticket said and b) if this was the right line) we arrived in London and I still held hope that I would fly out at 915pm. On the tube we heard 2 announcements:
1. The central line is currently suspended due to a person under the train. We appologise for the inconvenience.
2. Flights out of all London airports are suspended until 1pm tomorrow.
The next few hours play out as such;
1pm-2:15pm on hold to British Airways (£20 for the call) and eventually I simply got disconnected.
3pm on the London Eye receive email that flight is cancelled.
5pm walked through London to find a British Airways office, and instead find this internet cafe and no solution.
Could be here till Wednesday. Must update about Paris but running out of time.
Love x
Friday, April 9, 2010
Sausages and Dice.
I'm sitting in a big room in a house that is 450 years old in a German town called Fishingen. The trees are budding in the chilly spring afternoon and I can see Switzerland from the window in the distance. Everyone in the room speaks German and throws lolly wrappers at me to make me feel more included.
Today we visited a German village, Frieberg, where I had my first German sausage (triple checking it wasn't made of pork!) and sat in a cafe playing some dice game.
This place is the most exciting place. Yesterday we went to a French Provincial Town, which made me want to sing songs from Beauty and the Beast, had dinner in a German bistro and went out in a Swiss town called Basel. 3 countries in a few hours all moments apart. I'm still excited by the old buildings and colourful terrace houses.
It's strange not being able to communicate fully. I've written a few phrases on my hand such as wei ge es dier and eash ourch, though if you speak German you won't understand what I've written. I wrote the phranetically and I'm pretty sure I saw it wrong.
I'm missing London already. Spending my days in Soho and walking down West End at night, I realised it's the kind of place I want to live. Maybe one day.
Love
Today we visited a German village, Frieberg, where I had my first German sausage (triple checking it wasn't made of pork!) and sat in a cafe playing some dice game.
This place is the most exciting place. Yesterday we went to a French Provincial Town, which made me want to sing songs from Beauty and the Beast, had dinner in a German bistro and went out in a Swiss town called Basel. 3 countries in a few hours all moments apart. I'm still excited by the old buildings and colourful terrace houses.
It's strange not being able to communicate fully. I've written a few phrases on my hand such as wei ge es dier and eash ourch, though if you speak German you won't understand what I've written. I wrote the phranetically and I'm pretty sure I saw it wrong.
I'm missing London already. Spending my days in Soho and walking down West End at night, I realised it's the kind of place I want to live. Maybe one day.
Love
Monday, April 5, 2010
London Days
I've been told to blog a bit so people know what's happening. So here is a start. Even though I'm heading home soon. But I'll share my African awakening on here in time. Exerts from
my journal, experiences and photos.
So I'm back in the land of Internet. London town!!
I miss Northern Uganda though. It's a place of magic. It is so broken yet the hope that is exuded takes your breath away and realise that joy is possible. Even when living in the memory of hell.
One of the girls said "I've been so close to heaven and so close to hell". That sums it up perfectly for us I guess.
I won't go too much into Africa yet. It's still being processed and I hold it close to my heart. Instead I'll share the things we've done and see here.
We arrived late last Wednesday night after what I would describe the worst 24 hours of my life. Such moments included:
2am on the Nairobi airport floor writhing in stomach pain from fast food dinner.
Being given the all clear to fly by the slow and broken English doctor.
Arriving in Cairo for an 8 hour stop over where they took our passports for the wholetime.
Being taken into a room with 3 middle eastern "doctors" to try figure out what was wrong with me and watching one of them pull out a syringe to give me "the treatment". I ran out of there as fast as I could!
And finally arriving in London at 10 sans bag. 5 degrees and a plane blanket for protection.
So that was the hilarious and dramatic beginning to our time in London
my journal, experiences and photos.
So I'm back in the land of Internet. London town!!
I miss Northern Uganda though. It's a place of magic. It is so broken yet the hope that is exuded takes your breath away and realise that joy is possible. Even when living in the memory of hell.
One of the girls said "I've been so close to heaven and so close to hell". That sums it up perfectly for us I guess.
I won't go too much into Africa yet. It's still being processed and I hold it close to my heart. Instead I'll share the things we've done and see here.
We arrived late last Wednesday night after what I would describe the worst 24 hours of my life. Such moments included:
2am on the Nairobi airport floor writhing in stomach pain from fast food dinner.
Being given the all clear to fly by the slow and broken English doctor.
Arriving in Cairo for an 8 hour stop over where they took our passports for the wholetime.
Being taken into a room with 3 middle eastern "doctors" to try figure out what was wrong with me and watching one of them pull out a syringe to give me "the treatment". I ran out of there as fast as I could!
And finally arriving in London at 10 sans bag. 5 degrees and a plane blanket for protection.
So that was the hilarious and dramatic beginning to our time in London
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Princess in the Streets
By looking at me, you wouldn't think I'd be in Africa in less than 3 weeks.
I walked to work this morning, looking just like any other working girl. Fake D&G (real leather from Chapel Street and cost a good $100 mind you) perched on my shoulder, sunnies, bow in hair, Lisa Ho bag dangling from a bent elbow, carrying my favourite blue fish-skin shoes and my hands wildly texting on my iPhone. Right now, I'm tanned, blonde and smelling like Armani Code. In 3 weeks, I'll be in Kitgum, the first leg of a 7 week trip, visiting the Compassion Project and meeting my sponsor child. (The cutest little girl called Praise).
It's hard to comprehend. I'm beginning to try to make the most of every delightful moment we take for granted. My coffee made by one of the best barista's at Mecca every morning. Putting on make-up and doing my hair after a deliciously hot/long shower and feeling pretty. Sleeping in a big bed, with a fan and air-con, safe in a big house. Knowing what my day will bring. Knowing I'll have sushi for lunch that won't give me diahorrea, or that I can get home when I want after work. I don't need to wait 2 hours for a truck to come. Being in instant contact with my friends and family, and having lunch with them on our lunch breaks. I'm even appreciating the people at work that usually drive me crazy.
I sound like I'm dying.
But perhaps a part of me is. The Princess might actually die in me.
It's a wrestle. I love beauty and feeling pretty. I like to shop and go out for dinner and a cocktail and watch all the Oscar movies before the Oscars.
But I love Justice and Jesus. More. Of course. But it needs to get bigger, so I and my desires can get smaller.
It is so clear in scripture that he who loves his life must lose it. I've lost it before. It was ok. I survived. So now I'll lose comfort and language and my safety net and find Life in Him. Under the mosquito net at night with a fan that may or may not work. Lying in territory the devil once ruled and still has strongholds over. Lying on ground where children have murdered and ravaged villages.
I will have a bag of half gifts and half me. My little comforts of tops and skirts for equator heat. Boots and jackets for a 'holiday' in Europe (which really is an absolute contradiction I can't seem to shake) and a few comfort items such as a book, muesli bars and some melted chocolate (Fair Trade of course).
And so I approach March 7 with eager anticipation mixed with apprehnsion and fear. But it all rests in Him.
Maybe I'll have a little sorry-for-myself cry on the plane. I'll watch a bunch of movies about instant gratification and self-glorification, and then I'll leave it behind. With my iPod in one hand, my Bible in the other, I'll march forward with contradiction attempting to understand who and why I am, and what God will do with this princess of a girl.
I walked to work this morning, looking just like any other working girl. Fake D&G (real leather from Chapel Street and cost a good $100 mind you) perched on my shoulder, sunnies, bow in hair, Lisa Ho bag dangling from a bent elbow, carrying my favourite blue fish-skin shoes and my hands wildly texting on my iPhone. Right now, I'm tanned, blonde and smelling like Armani Code. In 3 weeks, I'll be in Kitgum, the first leg of a 7 week trip, visiting the Compassion Project and meeting my sponsor child. (The cutest little girl called Praise).
It's hard to comprehend. I'm beginning to try to make the most of every delightful moment we take for granted. My coffee made by one of the best barista's at Mecca every morning. Putting on make-up and doing my hair after a deliciously hot/long shower and feeling pretty. Sleeping in a big bed, with a fan and air-con, safe in a big house. Knowing what my day will bring. Knowing I'll have sushi for lunch that won't give me diahorrea, or that I can get home when I want after work. I don't need to wait 2 hours for a truck to come. Being in instant contact with my friends and family, and having lunch with them on our lunch breaks. I'm even appreciating the people at work that usually drive me crazy.
I sound like I'm dying.
But perhaps a part of me is. The Princess might actually die in me.
It's a wrestle. I love beauty and feeling pretty. I like to shop and go out for dinner and a cocktail and watch all the Oscar movies before the Oscars.
But I love Justice and Jesus. More. Of course. But it needs to get bigger, so I and my desires can get smaller.
It is so clear in scripture that he who loves his life must lose it. I've lost it before. It was ok. I survived. So now I'll lose comfort and language and my safety net and find Life in Him. Under the mosquito net at night with a fan that may or may not work. Lying in territory the devil once ruled and still has strongholds over. Lying on ground where children have murdered and ravaged villages.
I will have a bag of half gifts and half me. My little comforts of tops and skirts for equator heat. Boots and jackets for a 'holiday' in Europe (which really is an absolute contradiction I can't seem to shake) and a few comfort items such as a book, muesli bars and some melted chocolate (Fair Trade of course).
And so I approach March 7 with eager anticipation mixed with apprehnsion and fear. But it all rests in Him.
Maybe I'll have a little sorry-for-myself cry on the plane. I'll watch a bunch of movies about instant gratification and self-glorification, and then I'll leave it behind. With my iPod in one hand, my Bible in the other, I'll march forward with contradiction attempting to understand who and why I am, and what God will do with this princess of a girl.
Monday, January 18, 2010
Impending Aventures
I thought I might as well start blogging about Africa now. I wont really release this till I go, no one really wants to read the boring preparation stuff. They want to know about the turbulent 20 seater plan flying into war torn Northern Uganda. Or about having to eat liver for breakfast. Or about how I'll probably cry myself to sleep for the first two nights because I'm a princess and I miss hot running water and my iPhone and water pillow.
I'm writing now because I want a log of how I feel. What happens, and how lucky we are that God has His hand on us!
Take me to the places on earth
That teach you how to dance
The places where you can risk
Letting the world break your heart
And I will take you to the places
Where the earth beneath my feet
And the stars overhead
Make my heart whole
Again
And Again
Oriah Mountain Dreamer
I'm writing now because I want a log of how I feel. What happens, and how lucky we are that God has His hand on us!
Take me to the places on earth
That teach you how to dance
The places where you can risk
Letting the world break your heart
And I will take you to the places
Where the earth beneath my feet
And the stars overhead
Make my heart whole
Again
And Again
Oriah Mountain Dreamer
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