not quite ready

I feel ill-prepared to write this blog, to say the least, but perhaps this is the best time to write it, as it will be raw and honest - unpolished.

I spent the weekend at a Christian festival called Nidus (www.nidus2006.com), which focused on Faith, the Arts, and Justice. It was an action-packed, carefully planned and rich weekend that was a valuable experience for me at this point in time.

One particular area of interest for me was the seminars pertaining to the current HIV/AIDS pandemic in Africa (and large portions of the globe). My heart was broken again this weekend. I never used to care, perhaps that's the most disgusting part of it all. It's easier not to care than to care. For me caring requires being informed, which means I seek that out, because let's be honest here in the West, dying black people don't make for cutting edge news day after day after day after day. And so the shadow side is that we remain uniformed.

Okay, so I care but what do I do? This is a question I've often asked myself in regards to the injustice of the world. I don't know. I guess I seek to be informed and to inform others, I need to learn the stories not just the statistics, after all I believe that human beings all share certain common stories to be told.

One thing that impressed me this weekend was a seminar led by a British man named Phil Wall. He showed me a rare story of hope in Africa as he works with and empowers the HIV orphaned generation, (who, by the way, are people of my own age bracket). And for now I guess I cling to that story, and that's the story I want to tell, a story of rebuilding rather than destruction.

As you may have gathered I'm a bit obsessed with Africa. It's only been recent. But I can't get it out of my system. I will actually be traveling to South Africa in January but in a lot of ways I wish I wasn't going. As soon as I go it changes my story. I guess I fear people will disregard my thoughts and experiences almost as if to say "oh she's been there, we haven't" or "that’s her thing, not ours”. When really my heart is already broken, and I can't see how seeing things first hand will be any easier. But this is not about what is easy.

On the other side of things, I know that by going to Africa I will not fix anything. I go humbly hoping to learn, knowing I'll grieve and praying that God will give me a voice that he can use to speak his story of life. I don't leave until after Christmas and for that I'm thankful as I recognize that for the time being I'm not quite ready.