There will come a time, you’ll see, with no more tears and love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears. Get over your hill and see what you find there with grace in your heart and flowers in your hair.
(Mumford and Sons, “After the Storm”)
This past month has been very difficult. Many of the things I hoped wouldn’t happen, or couldn’t even anticipate happening while I was living so far from home seemed to happen. People I loved got sick, died, suffered, grieved, lost hope, became confused, distant and overwhelmed. And it seemed like it all happened to all different people in my life at the same moment. I was being pulled, yanked even, from this place and these relationships back to my roots. I became confused, distant, overwhelmed and sick(thanks to a nasty little parasite). But through all of this, I felt God drawing me closer.
God had given me all of the people, love and support I needed at exactly the right moments to sustain me, to give me hope, to allow me to love and to forgive despite my confusion. Yesterday, I found clarity as I reorganized my room as a physical sign of renewal. I read through letters, cards and notes from the last two years and some things I had written in college. The love from family and friends in those letters and physical signs of support was overwhelming, but what was most surprising was something I had written as part of my “Public Service Autobiography” for my Public and Community Service Capstone in 2012. Generally, when I look back on things I wrote in college, I do so while laughing at my pretension and self-righteousness. This, however, was the exception. It was totally and completely honest and relevant.
(I refer to the story of “The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas” several times- it’s worth reading if you haven’t already!)
Here it is:
“I am constantly trying to answer the questions I did not know I was asking myself when I was five-- how do I walk away from Omelas? How do I identify an injustice and rectify it? How do I make my communities more honest, complete and accepting? How do I bring peace into the world? And most importantly, how do I walk away from Omelas while maintaining and developing my relationships with my loving, supportive, undeniably hard-working and selfless family in the suburbs? It has taken time, thought, reflection, and a range of emotions including anger, sadness, joy, bliss, and confusion to understand this dilemma.
I now know that I will always challenge myself to consider this question of my place in the world. I haven’t been complacent since I was five and I don’t think I will ever allow myself to be complacent. That does not, however, mean that I will never allow myself to be content. On the contrary, I will not be content with my most important relationships unless I am working on my relationship with the child and slowly walking away from Omelas, slowly working to live more honestly. At this pivotal transition point, it may seem exceptionally important to reflect on how I do this and how I will continue to live my life, but in reality, this is a question I have been asking myself since I was 5 and probably won’t stop asking myself until I’m 105.
I am at peace with this realization. It may seem completely intimidating, unstable, impractical and unconventional to many, but I gain inner calmness, stability and purpose from challenging myself to think about my relationship with injustice and my place within or without the walls of Omelas. The inner calmness, stability and purpose which I gain from working for justice is what sustains me and allows me to be present to my family and friends throughout the world.”
I have found this inner calmness, stability and purpose here in Dar es Salaam, living as a JV- learning to teach and be taught, learning to love and be loved, learning to listen and be listened to, learning to give and receive, learning to be gentle and accept gentleness. This is a grace. It is a grace I am thankful for. It is a grace I pray for and try to nurture while recognizing my own flaws and brokenness.
“So, in the quietness of this place, in this group, in this particular moment, on this particular afternoon, surrounded by the presence of the Holy, my heart whispers to me: keep fresh before me the moments of my Highest knowing that in fair weather or foul, in good times or in tempests, in the days when the darkness and the foe are nameless or familiar, in the mix of voices, mine and others, in my fears and my frets, my weakness and my love I may not forget that, to which my life is committed.”
(excerpt from Deep is the Hunger by Howard Thurman)
