I have not blogged in over a week. I feel like a failure but I can’t find my laptop nor do I have internet access at home yet. I also do not know where an entire box of my daughter’s clothes are but on the upside I know where my daughter is so in the big picture everything is good.
The entire moving process is such a bizarre experience. To put it simply, you beg everyone you know to give you large cardboard boxes. You then put every single thing you own into these boxes. Then you beg everyone you know into helping you carry around the pile of boxes. You stay up into the wee hours of the morning unpacking these boxes. Lastly you beg everyone you know to take away the large pile of boxes.
Last night, I was looking at my pile of cardboard boxes. When we were in Rwanda, I met a woman who had lost her home in a mudslide. She had a whole pile of children and basically nothing else. She had no boxes. I stood staring at my boxes wondering how now to help the people we met in Rwanda. The needs are overwhelming and its hard to find the energy to mount a fresh attack on fundraising and organizing. But the disparity between my pile of empty boxes and her lack of boxes is continuing to haunt me.
I’m grateful for our new house. I’m grateful for clean water. I’m grateful I know where my family is sleeping tonight. I’m grateful for the freedom in this country to talk or blog about what I’m thinking. I’m grateful for the opportunity to go to Rwanda. It’s painful. But I’m grateful.