dependence

the other night there was a 'super moon'.  that is actually what it's called when the moon is closer to the earth and appears bigger and brighter than usual. it doesn't happen very often and it deserves its name.
it was gigantic and full and magnificent.

photo of oregon coast by rockaway beach chamber of commerce

i was driving home as it climbed from just above the trees to the top of the sky. i was driving home from a day doing clinic in a village in luweero as the sun set on one end and this awesome moon rose on the other and i felt full of sky and life and thanks.

sometimes writing is like cooking. it can take a long time to simmer, it can be left on the back burner when other things take priority while it stews- it can grow in strength and flavor as it sits doing its own thing, waiting to be stirred. writing also feels like eating- it needs to be done. thinking about my day in luweero has taken some time but now i'm hungry.

i spent the day as the doctor for a mobile clinic caring for HIV+ people in a village 25 km down a dirt road from a town that was 70km outside of kampala.  the day started early- i left at 7am to pick up the members of the community based organization 'action for the needy' which began this endeavor to bring health care to a poor village of subsistence farming families about four years ago.  it started because one woman, jane, from the village, moved to kampala, tested positive for HIV, got on meds, and wanted to identify and support others in her village with HIV. she wanted to send a message of hope that you can live well with HIV.  she wanted to de-stigmatize the disease, she wanted to improve the health and livelihood of her people, to educate them and do for them, what 'reach out' clinic had done for her- so she did.

jane and henry

we stopped at her brothers house to have tea when we arrived in the village.

jane with her family

it was african tea- sweet, spice and milk- delicious.
then we went to see the land they've procured for a school and clinic.  a beautiful five acres in a farming community.  they need to turn the mobile clinic into a permanent clinic- if they want the government to provide antiretroviral drugs.

the local children came out to welcome us with a song.

and then in perfect uganda style there was a ceremony of sorts.  the chairman of the village gave a speech, there were introductions and i was the special guest of honor.  he spoke luganda, he said they were so thankful i was there and that anything i could do to help them was most welcome. i was most welcome.  it was unexpected and honoring and wonderful.

the clinic was held in a small church in the center of the village.  we arrived to a room full of people- some waiting to be tested, most with HIV waiting to see the doctor, all decked out in their best dresses.

the clinic was busy and we did the best we could with the few medicines we had with us.  i was able to see both the great need and the incredible success of this small organization.  the high point was being a part of something so very real and compassionate.  this clinic was started and maintained with out a funding base, with out a doctor, without any payment to anyone- pure desire to care for those in need.  wow.  the low point was having a woman initially refuse a gyn exam because she thought i was a man.  yes.  a man.  that is what the translator said.  so i promptly unleashed my hair from it's functional bun, and pointed to my chest and said, "i am a woman!"  the woman said,  "well you're a doctor and you're wearing pants, and you walk too fast to be a woman."  oh.  i see.  that is how we distinguish! (note to self- next time where a skirt, slow down and catwalk.)

but it was like being in a time machine, even more than i already feel in my life near kampala.  i was back to before Reach out clinic had a building, or computers, before we had antiretrovirals- because we didn't. this clinic has no building, no lab, no way to even measure CD4 counts to see if clients should be on ARVs.  

on the way home i had a lot of time to think as the conversations in the car were in lugandan.  i felt inspired, somewhat overwhelmed and also sad that this is where uganda is- people in rural areas with out access to testing and treatment.  i began to think about all the things to do, to help, to reach out to them, to connect with this village, to get the clinic going- but going well.  to make it self sustaining, to assist with development and some economic growth- because poverty, again, is the problem.

there is a clinic 25 kms down the dirt road- but there is almost no transportation, and what there is, is prohibitively expensive for a community with no income,  to walk would take about 5 hours each way.  i thought about roads and infrastructure- mike said it would cost about 5 million dollars to pave that road. i thought about what the chairman had said to me in his speech- about need and the tremendous gratitude for help.  i thought about the continued dependence i see here- that has come to be so abundant and ingrained and well, depended on.  and i thought about our being here as missionaries- and something clicked.  i realized something foundational.

there are many ways to land in uganda as western professionals.  there are many hospitals here where i could get a job- perhaps mike could open an architecture firm.  we could make enough money to live- so why on earth did we come here as missionaries?  why did we come here on other peoples dimes?  why did we raise support to be here?

the most obvious reason is that we came here to serve God by working with people and places that couldn't afford to pay us- we wanted to work with the poor.

i've never been poor- i mean poor, poor.  i've had seasons of having "no money"- of watching what we we spend- of not eating out, not buying meat, not doing the extras, but i've never been with out food, i've never not brought my kids to the doctor, or pulled them out of school because of school fees- i've never been with out a home.  so i don't know what poor feels like.  but i do understand dependence.

and that is something we share with those in need.  we have dependence in common. by coming here as missionaries, as volunteers, we are completely dependent on our senders, really ultimately we are dependent on God.  there is no- 'oh i'll just moonlight." or "pick up some extra shifts" - we depend on others for everything. if our funds run out- we have to come home.  we are also accountable to other people for how we spend our money- our resources.  this is incredibly humbling and teaches us much about life for most of the world.

as western professionals, we aren't used to "needing" other people.  we aren't accustomed to depending on anyone but ourselves.  this experience gives us a small window of insight into how the people that we are serving, spend life and for that i'm incredibly thankful to God and to those who support us, who enable us to be here in a way that helps us to both do our work and understand those in a way that we couldn't without this level of dependence.

of course it also helps us remember the truth about life for everyone.  ultimately, like it or not, much of it is out of our control- here we feel that more acutely.  but it's true and scary and we all fight it most of the time and then act surprised when life feels out of control.  faith helps- actually, faith cures the fear of being out of control in an ultimate way- i still struggle with the minutes.

we do what we can.  for each other, for the world, for ourselves.

as that moon rose- i was thankful that i am supported but such amazing, generous, loving people who believe that the world isn't so big.  who believe that we can make a difference - that we can make things better and bring hope and care and medicines and empowerment and love and connection and joy to parts of the world that live the reality of dependence- at least for now.

thank you!!