26 May 2010
As I sit inhaling my lunch as well as A Thousand Sisters by Lisa Shannon,
Tears roll down my face.
I inhale, my breath aquiver
And I trust that God has a plan for me.
I have not been drawn to Africa for 15 years for nothing.
My heart is not aching for these strangers of the motherland for no reason.
Africa calls me.
She is connected to me,
Whether or not my feet ever touch her soil.
I do not ache for the world for the sake of being sad.
There is purpose in my sadness,
In my anger,
In my passion.
There has to be.
In the moments I feel helpless,
God whispers to me that I am not.
I may not be able to bring home babies to join my family right now.
I may not be able to travel to this place that tugs at my heart this year.
But I am not helpless.
Perhaps my words to my Representatives are lost in a sea of requests.
Perhaps my art postcard won't stand out like I hope and think it will
Amongst thousands of emails and faxed white paper.
Maybe Intel doesn’t give a shit that I won’t buy their products no mo’
Until they commit to funding conflict free minerals in the Congo.
I cringe at the idea of the laptop I am typing on
Or the cell phone I am chatting on
May contain "blood minerals."
Maybe that doesn't mean that I will just go without modern technology,
But rather bring attention to the public
And lobby these companies to commit to conflict free.
How can they ignore thousands of letters from their consumers?
My efforts just might be in vain.
Does that mean that I should cease making an effort?
How could I?
I shall take the risk
Of being the damper on a perfectly lovely day
When I speak up for the voiceless,
The toils that many would rather not know about
Because knowing is just so heavy.
Perhaps we can be aware, speak up,
And enjoy our blessed lives all at once.
My voice may quiver and shake when I speak up in a crowd
But the alternative of not doing means
I am not following what my heart is telling me to do.
I hope my passion and love speak louder than the shaking in my voice.
These women in Congo
They may never know how much I really care.
The boys in Uganda
Will likely never know I exist,
That I wrote my largest paper last semester
About child soldiers in Africa.
That I cried while I researched
That I ache to go there
And share my love,
Although I have no idea
What it's like to live through such atrocities.
The AIDS orphans in South Africa, Zimbabwe, Ethiopia,
They don't know I would love to be a mother to them.
As I sit at my computer
I want to do it all.
I want to scoop up the world in a loving embrace
And tell them all that God has a plan.
Does someone who's been through such hell want to hear such words
From a privileged American?
Does someone who lives a privileged life
Want to hear of such atrocities in the world?
Do I speak based on what people want to hear?
I wade through the waters of what is an acceptable
Or welcomed conversation.
Does God really have a plan for me, for them?
It comforts me to hear it, even during the times I don't feel it.
Even when I am hopeless and feeling helpless,
I have to believe it.
Because there is no downside in believing it.