Heart Lag

“The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes.” Marcel Proust

I am finally home in Bend, Oregon. Uganda is some 9000 miles away. The entire trip barely seems real. If not for the unpacked bag of dirty clothes sitting on my floor and my inability to sleep past 4 am, I might think I dreamed the whole thing. My re-entry was smooth. After traveling for 30 hours, I showered and went to my son's lacrosse game. The next day, I made breakfast, drove the kids to school, ran errands, and went to an art opening. On Day 3, I went to the farm with every intention of gardening and prepping the yurt for yoga camp. Instead, I crawled into a cozy hammock. Once I allowed my body to slow down, the exhaustion finally caught up with me and I fell asleep beneath snow-capped mountains and clear blue skies. I slept for an hour before going home, getting in bed, and sleeping for another 14 hours. The physical jetlag can be cured that easily. The emotional jetlag is another thing entirely. Sleep doesn't cure that. It is one thing to travel from time zone to time zone, from place to place. It is another thing to travel within one's own heart. In Uganda, I discovered new landscapes within myself. The BPU crew and Building Tomorrow led me further down the path of inspiration and joy; at Shanti and LiA, I explored strength and courage; and at New Hope, I allowed myself to go into the tangled underbrush of loss, pain, and helplessness. All of these people, places, and experiences expanded my personal landscape. What an amazing gift---personal expansion. How do I begin to repay that? What do I have to offer in return? How do I pay this forward? So many questions. I hope the answers will come soon. Maybe another nap will help...

Blinded By the Light

"As we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same." Marianne Williamson

We spent our last two days of the trip working with the children at New Hope School & Orphanage. When I met these same children last year, I made a commitment to return and to try to find ways to make their lives a little brighter. I am glad to have made good on the promise to return. I only wish I could say that things seemed brighter when I got there. Over the past year we've provided bed nets, new uniforms, school supplies, and a new well. These things may make day-to-day life a little easier, but not necessarily brighter. The first day of our visit left me with the same heavy feeling that I carried away from there last year---a weight right in the center of my heart.
On the second day of our visit, we brought some new friends along from Breakdance Project Uganda. I watched as these young, cool B-Boys from Kampala connected one on one with the children who live in this small rural orphanage. They made them laugh, played games, performed for them, taught them breakdance moves, encouraged them to teach each other, and inspired them to perform. As I watched, I felt the weight begin to lift and the light come in. In yoga, we end each practice with "Namaste," which means the light in me sees and recognizes the light in you. I saw the light at New Hope. The BPU crew have promised to continue working with the children at New Hope, spreading the light through music and dance.
All I can say is NAMASTE!!!!!!

"Life is not a journey to the grave with the
intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body,but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming -- WOW-- What a Ride!"

We rafted the Nile today. I had intended to sit this one out. I reasoned that one time down the Nile in one lifetime was enough. I should know myself better. There was an adventure to be had, there were other people ready to enjoy it, and I did not want to be left standing on the shore safe and dry. All I can say now is, "WOW--What a Ride!" After a series of class 4's and 5's, I felt both exhilarated and exhausted. My body was full of adrenaline, fear, Nile water, and probably a few parasites. I was ready to get my feet back on solid ground.

It is hard for me to find my solid ground here i Uganda. I feel like I am being carried on a fast current. Everyone talks about Africa time as moving so slowly. For me, it is moving at warp speed. I have been looking forward to this trip for so long, basically since the day I left Uganda 15 months ago. Now I only have 2 days left. I have no idea what comes next. When will I be able to return? Where is all of this leading me? All I can do is hold on tight and enjoy the ride. What a ride it is.....

xo, Amanda

There's No Place Like Om

"Women are Motherland."
Shanti Teen

Shanti means Peace. Tonight, I am marinating in it. We've spent the past two days at Shanti Uganda, an eco birth center in a rural village in Luwero District. Last year we stomped mud, plastered walls, and laid bricks. To coin a birth phrase, which seems perfectly appropriate at Shanti, we were here for the hard labor. This year we got to see how much our beautiful baby has grown up. We sang and danced with the HIV+ Women's Group in the round house that we built. I got to reconnect with Bubeeri, the shy sparkly-eyed woman who had invited me into her home for dinner last year and Janet, the young nurse who had been present at the birth I attended in a different clinic. Familiar faces are such an incredible gift when you are so far from home.

Today, I got to teach yoga to groups of teen girls who are participating in the Shanti Teen Program which I am honored to be sponsoring. I love knowing that these young women will be nurtured and supported by the Shanti community and will have mentors like Bubeeri and Janet. The teens asked to make Women's Rights shirts. We provided the paints, they provided the slogans. I hope the slogans they wore today on their shirts will forever be imprinted in their hearts:

"Women Are Needed"
"Women Are Beautiful"
"Women Are Strong"
"Women are Motherland"

I have reached the motherland. Om Shanti, Shanti. XO, Amanda

And when we think we lead, we are most led.
~Lord Byron


I must agree with Lord Byron on this one. Whenever I think I am in control, the universe has a funny way of reminding me who's really in charge. My dad will be surprised to hear me admit that it isn't me. I have been planning this for a year now. I have coordinated service projects, created itineraries, and dreamed of leading this return trip to Uganda. Here I am in Uganda with 10 other people and instead of feeling like a leader, I feel led---led by my heart (because surely my head would have booked a vacation on a sunny beach somewhere). Of course, I really believe my heart is only the co-pilot. I have faith that God is also at the wheel. Each time I start to question why I am here, I have to look no further than this dynamic duo. Despite riots, outbreaks, and the threat of severe abdominal distress, I have been led back to Uganda. I sometimes wonder whether my navigational team really knows what they're doing. I question the universe, I question myself, I question everything. My personal mantra becomes "why". Why me? Why here? Why now? Why not Hawaii? The answers come from the people and projects we work with here in Uganda: the teen mothers who are receiving vocational training at Life in Africa & the children who are attending the daycare center we funded there; the students who will study inside the beautiful school we started building last year for Building Tomorrow & eat from the garden we planted yesterday; and the B-Boys and B-Girls who have popped, locked, and spun their way into my heart forever. These are the sparks that reignite my faith and lead me on. These are the true trip leaders in this adventure. I am just going along for the ride, and oh what a ride it has been....

Chindi Chindi

"It is for us to pray not for tasks equal to our powers, but for powers equal to our tasks..." Helen Keller

My friend Jenny sent me that quote as a send-off. It popped into my head tonight as I was trying to follow Derreck, my 11 year old teacher from Breakdance Project Uganda. "You came back", he half said half asked when he saw me. I told him I was determined to learn some of his moves. He didn't hesitate to start teaching them to me. We threw down some top rope and added some footwork (I'm even learning the lingo). Then we went down to the floor. That's usually where all the fun acrobatic stunts take place.I suddenly felt unprepared for the task. I knew going to the practice tonight would challenge me, would stretch my comfort zone as well as my hamstring muscles. I get very self-conscious when people see me dance. I feel exposed for the white-n-nerdy yoga teacher i am. I looked at Derreck, this kid was taking his time to share the gift of his teaching with me. I had to find the powers to receive it. I mangled some of his smooth moves, but I managed to pull off a tiny freeze, basically a long hold arm balance, thanks to my yoga practice. Once I stopped judging myself to be this or that, I realized that I am what I am. Abramz taught me to say it, :"Chindi Chindi." I am a white-n-nerdy lacrosse mom yoga teacher b-girl in Uganda. I got the power for ail that. I don't have to stand on the sidelines watching other folks dance. I can throw my moves into the mix. I've got the power. Chindi Chindi.

School's in Session

"We are all students and we are all teachers." Abramz Tekya

My first day in Uganda. I traveled 30 hours to get here. Fortunately, I have found the perfect cure for jetlag---inspiration. Just as I was beginning to feel the overwhelming urge to nap today (2:00 am Oregon time), I willed my eye lids to remain open while I met with a young Ugandan B-Boy by the name of Abramz Tekya. I am ready to testify that inspiration is better than Red Bull. As I listened to Abramz discuss his dream of empowering Ugandan youth through breakdance, I felt myself becoming energized. When he asked if we'd like to see his program in action, all thoughts of napping were gone. Jetlag VS. Breakdance Project Uganda....no contest. I hopped in a cab and went to my first ever breakdance battle. WOW. I saw empowered youth. I saw inspiration in motion. I saw passion & purpose come together and dance. Afterwards, I got to meet my first B-girl, a teenager named Remy. She taught me a few moves. When she said I was a good student, I felt so proud I could hardly contain it. I remembered something that Abramz said at lunch, "at Breakdance Project Uganda, we believe that we are all students and we are all teachers." I added a few important names to my list of teachers today. I learned so much more than a few dance moves.

Peace out y'all.
Bayou B-Girl

A Rose by Any Name

"I like people who teach me things." Rose Allen Kraft

I believe in signs. I see them everywhere. I like to think God sprinkles little breadcrumbs for us to follow, but most of us rarely take the time to notice them. One day about 5 years ago, I was driving down a dirt road in Tumalo, Oregon when God sent me a sign I couldn't ignore. I stopped in front a view that took my breath away. I could feel my heart expand to take it in. I called Jeff and said I'd found our dream property. Never mind that it wasn't for sale, never mind that we couldn't afford a farm. I believed in the sign, and oh what a sign it turned out to be. Rose Allen Kraft was nearing 90 when we first met her and asked whether she might like to sell us her farm. It was love at first sight. Rose and her late husband had been teachers who took year-long sabbaticals and traveled the world. She taught school in Afghanistan, wrote the Ugandan Girl Scout's Manual, and most recently traveled along the Siberian Railroad at the age of 92. She became my role model, my surrogate grandmother, and one of my true soul mates. Grandma Rose passed away a week ago today. At 94, she decided she'd had enough. As I embark on my journey back to Uganda, I can feel her presence urging me onward, "God gave you wings so you could fly," she once told me. She also reminded me that Jeff is the one who tends the nest while I am away. So I am flying away and Jeff is home tending the nest, which now includes the 40 acre Rose Allen Ranch where I received one of the greatest God-given gifts of my lifetime, Rose. I dedicate this trip to you, Rose. Thank you for teaching me so many things.


Roseisms...
I never kicked a door down, but if it was open, I walked through it.
Don’t judge a culture by their plumbing.
I’m long suffering, but when I’ve had enough, you know it.
There is great wisdom among all people...seek it out.
Love everyone – don’t leave anyone out.

You Gotta Have Faith

" I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I intended to be." Douglas Adams

As a yoga teacher, I often tell my students to set intentions. As a mother, I often tell my children to act with good intentions. As a person, I often think, "that was not my intention at all." There was a time in my life when I seemed intent only on reaching total self-destruction. I thank God everyday that I didn't get there. So, how did I get here instead of there? Who set this intention for my life? Who's driving this car anyway? God, My Higher Self, My Guardian Angel, some haloed stunt car driver? I don't have a definitive answer. I think that's where faith comes in. Though I may not be where I intended to be, I have faith that I am right where I am supposed to be. I also have faith that I am headed in the right direction. In two days, that direction is Uganda, a place that my heart's compass seems determined to point me towards. The past month has tested my faith in this compass. Could it be broken? Perhaps it is supposed to be pointing towards the South of France instead. I've actually asked God a few times whether he/she is testing my faith or my stupidity. Each time an obstacle is put in my path, I wonder whether it is a sign to turn around or find the strength to go forward despite all obstacles. I am stubborn by birth, it is part of my DNA much like Coca Cola, Crawfish Boils, Quarter Horses, Willie Nelson, World Travel, and Helping Others. I thank my parents for all of it---even the stubbornness. I choose to think stubbornness is just another word for faith. I have got faith, and so I keep moving forward to Uganda, a place where I am intended to go. And in two weeks, I have faith that I will end up back where I am intended to return...with my family and friends.
Until then, Keep the faith y'all.

The Blog Goes On....

Hello everyone.
I am heading back to Uganda in 10 days. Stay tuned...
Love, Amanda

Tiny Drops

"We may think that what we are doing is a drop in the ocean; but the ocean would be less without that drop." Mother Theresa

In February, I visited New Hope Children's Center where 153 orphaned children live along the shores of Lake Victoria. I held Patience's hand as she showed me her dormitory, a large dark room with triple bunk beds cramming every inch of floor space. Each bed had a small metal trunk at its foot. One small metal trunk held everything Patience owned in this world. I knew then that I would do the best I could to fill not only her trunk, but her heart, mind, and body as well. This week, I opened an email with photos of the children at New Hope receiving their new school uniforms. It may be a tiny drop, but it made my heart feel full. We will be visiting New Hope again in May. I hope to spread more tiny drops. I invite you to join me. Visit my website for more information: www.witnessyourworld.com.

Much Love, Amanda

The Language of Dreams

I heard a writer from Queens being interviewed on NPR recently. He said he had tried to write stories about other places but, somehow, it just never felt right. "I daydream in Queens," he said. That simple statement struck a chord deep down inside me. I may live day to day in the mountains of Central Oregon, but I daydream in the South. In fact, most of my dreams have southern accents. I dream of pep rallies and football games, cyprus and magnolias. The South haunts me even in my sleep.
I spent quite a few years trying to pull up my roots. I remember my first few classes at Southern Oregon State when I painfully tried to hide my southern drawl behind a thinly veiled "You Guys." I have thankfully reinstated "Y'all" into my vocabulary. I have come to the realization that we may grow and bloom in many locales, but only if we honor and care for our roots.

I am (finally) proud to say that I am a Wanderlust at Heart, but a Southerner in my Soul. My road has been long and winding from Monroe, Louisiana to Bend, Oregon, with sidetracks here, there, and everywhere in between. I have searched the wide world over for something I had all along---my self. I will continue to wander the world, only now, I can truly say I am not lost.

Where are you roots? What language do you dream in? Have you spent any time with your self lately?

Sweet Dreams Y'all,
Amanda

Flight School

"All Things Want to Fly"
R.M. Rilke

Two days ago, my seven-year-old daughter broke her elbow. She is now proudly strutting the hallways of her elementary school with a neon pink cast. I feel sure that the novelty will wear off and the tedium will set in, but we can safely reassure her that her wing will heal and she will fly again---perhaps she can just work on the landing. The whole experience has got me thinking about flight. I love the Rilke quote from above. I can think of all the times in my life when I have longed to feel the wind beneath my wings---riding my horse Sparky as fast as his pinto pony legs would carry us, skiing in a tuck all the way down Strawberry Hill, riding my yellow Schwinn straight down the levee onto Myrtle Street. I'm not sure exactly when I lost it; all I know is that, at some point along the way, I lost my will to fly. I became a flightless bird, a big chicken. I lost my faith in myself. There is no neon pink cast to help that heal.

It has taken years for me to return to the tarmac, but I am once again flight-ready. This time, the joy I get from helping others is what lifts me off the ground. We all have to find what it is that lifts us up. Then we have to spread our wings and take that leap of faith. I work with teen girls because I want them to feel what it's like to rise up to their potential. This week, I asked them a few questions that I want to pose to you as well:

What great thing would you attempt if you knew you couldn't fail?
What is your special gift and how can you share it with others?
What impact do you want to have on the world?

We all have the desire to fly. What are you waiting for?
See you in the wild blue yonder,
Amanda

The Harvest Moon

I have spent the past 6 months tending to the garden of my soul. So many seeds were planted there while I was in Uganda. I have never considered myself much of a gardner. Weeding, hedging, pruning---these things do not come naturally to me. Growing wild, growing free---that's more my style. You should see my garden out at the farm, tomatoes tumbling across the ground, strawberries reaching through the wire mesh fence, and enough mint to provide juleps for all of Louisiana. So, how was I going to care for those lovely seeds that traveled around the world with me from Kampala, Uganda, to Bend, Oregon? It has taken great effort for me to become a conscious gardner for this precious plot of soul. Last night, I realized that we are coming upon the Harvest Moon this week. I decided it was the perfect time for me to share some of my harvest with you, my fellow gardners.

I have been working through the Women Like Us Foundation to continue to support New Hope Orphanage. We have received grants for new uniforms and have been able to provide bed nets for the entire surrounding village. I have begun a program that allows at-risk youth here to create and implement service projects in Uganda. I have also created Witness Your World Tours which offers travel opportunities for women that combine service, culture, yoga and self-discovery. Our first trip will be back to Uganda in May of 2011. There we will continue to sow the seeds of service. There we will surely receive more seeds to plant in our own gardens. If you are inspired to join us, please visit the website for a trip itinerary and registration information: www.witnessyourworld.com.

As Autumn approaches, I intend to spend more time in this little patch of my garden. I hope you will continue to bear witness for me. In other words, I hope you will bear with me and my blog blathering. I also hope you will begin to share your world with me. What have you harvested? What seeds are you still nurturing in your soul?

Many Blessings on all of Your Gardens, Amanda

Gift Exchange

“One must know not just how to accept a gift, but with what grace to share it.”
Maya Angelou


This past week has been a bit of a blur. After two mechanical errors, an unexpected overnight in LA, and a scenic detour through both Seattle and Portland, my plane finally touched down in Bend approximately 66 hours after I left my hotel in Kampala. My family didn't recognize me at first as I entered the baggage carousel area in my new "I Heart LA" sweatsuit, a desperation purchase in the LAX Airport Hilton gift shop.
After a quick nap, I figured I'd be a as good as new or maybe as good as slightly used. Anyway, I thought I'd be fine. Jeff and I both took a nap. When we woke up an hour later, I was fine. Unfortunately, Jeff was not. At first, I thought it was just a "Man Cold," a psychological virus designed to solicit sympathy, guilt, chicken soup, and a back rub. One visit to the ER, a round of MRi's, catscans, blood tests and a spinal tap later, it was confirmed that Jeff had shingles, meningitis, and a bleeding ulcer. He is home and healing. I am playing nurse, a much easier job in Bend than Kasana.
I had intended to write a heartfelt grand finale blog to share with you all. I wanted to wrap up all of my experiences in a beautiful package, tie it with a bow, and send it out as a parting gift to the universe. Jeff's crazy quarantine has kept me away from my computer. Perhaps that has been his gift to me (there must have been an easier way, honey), because it allowed me time to realize that the universe isn't looking for a thank you gift. Patience, Faith, Miriam, Bubeera...the gifts the universe so generously shared with me while in Uganda cannot be wrapped in paper or witty one liners. The universe showered me with the gift of stories, so many heart-warming and heart-wrenching stories in their original unedited, uncut versions. My gift back to the universe has been to pass them on, to create a bridge between these worlds with my words. This week, I unpacked my dirty duffel bag and began washing the red clay earth from all of my clothes, but the stories are still folded carefully inside my heart. They are stained with blood, tears, sweat, jackfruit juice, and rich red clay. They smell of life and of death. These are the stories I will continue to tell, the gifts I will keep passing on. I am realizing that "witnessing the world" can mean listening with our hearts and speaking with our hearts as well as seeing with our hearts. I am reminded of the Maya Angelou quote from an earlier post, "There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you." I am hoping together we can relieve the agony of so many untold stories, the stories of Patience, Faith, Miriam, Bubeera intertwined with the stories of you and me. A neverending story, an everlasting gift.

Homeward Bound

“Other things may change us, but we start and end with family”
Anthony Brandt


I've spent the past 11 hours in seat 52B watching the little airplane on the mini-screen in front of me as it headed away from England, passed south of Iceland and Greenland, inched across Toronto and Ontario, and slid down the west coast. I was at 33,000 ft and moving at 850 miles an hour. I began to wonder whether modern travel has diminished our appreciation of the journey. 24 hours ago, I was in a third world country where more than half of the population lives on less than $1.25 a day. Now, I find myself sitting in a pub in LAX eating bad fish & chips and drinking a $10 glass of chardonnay, listening to Madonna, and watching Tiger Woods apologize on CNN. Jet lag and culture shock are quickly settling in. Suddenly the trip feels strangely like a bungee jump. I am dangling here unable to remember anything after the initial leap or the free fall that followed. All I know is that in 6 hours I will bounce back into the arms of my family.

Leaving on a Jet Plane...

My plane left the tarmac in Uganda 13 hours ago, but part of my heart is still there. I am sitting in the Heathrow airport waiting for the next leg in my journey home. An 11-hour flight to L.A., a 4-hour layover, and another 2-hour flight to Bend, where the rest of my heart is. All in all, it is 30 hours from Kampala to Bend. How will I bridge that distance when I am home? Of all the Ugandan seeds that were planted in my heart these past two weeks, which will grow and flourish in the high desert of Central Oregon? What kind of gardener will I be? I was just reminded if a passage from Paulo Coehlo's novel,

Brida:

"In life, each person can take one of two attitudes: to build or to plant. The builders might take years over their tasks, but one day, they finish what they’re doing. Then they find they’re hemmed in by their own walls. Life loses its meaning when the building stops.
Then there are those who plant. They endure storms and all the many vicissitudes of the seasons, and they rarely rest. But, unlike a building, a garden never stops growing. And while it requires the gardener’s constant attention, it also allows life for the gardener to be a great adventure.
Gardeners always recognise each other, because they know that in the history of each plant lies the growth of the whole World."
I must admit that I am now sobbing in the passenger lounge of Heathrow's terminal 5. I have planted a new corner in my garden, but I know in my heart that there are many more rows to hoe. I am tired physically and emotionally, but I am also inspired. I am returning home to my amazing family and friends, those lovely gardeners who helped to till the soil in my heart in preparation for this horticultural adventure. In 17 short hours, I will be soaking in their smiles and their hugs, their love and their support---those very things that fertilized the dream I have been blessed to live the past two weeks.

My Soil Sisters

"I have got to the age now where I can see how short a time we have to be here. And when I think about it, it can seem strange beyond telling that this particular bunch of us should be here on this little patch of ground in this little patch of time, and I can think of all the other times and places I might have lived, the other kinds of person I might have been. But there is something else. There are moments when the heart is generous, and then it knows that for better or worse our lives are woven together, one with another and with the place..." Wendell Berry

My life has been woven together with 24 amazing women these past two weeks. We have become intricately intwined one with the other and with this place, creating a rich tapestry. We have shared the miracle of birth, the strain of hard work, the joy of song, and stories---so many stories. Stories that are heartbreaking, heartwarming, absurd and sublime. Some of these stories we brought with us from home, others have come to us while here. Together they tell the story of us, of how we came to be part of an interwoven one. We came here as strangers and are leaving as sisters--- bound with the red clay earth, baptised by the River Nile, and woven together by the stories we now share. Time to turn the page.

Building a Dream

"When we are dreaming alone it is only a dream. When we are dreaming with others, it is the beginning of reality." Dom Helder Camara

Only half of Uganda’s children finish primary school. Less than half of those children go on to secondary school, and less than half of those go on to university. I see those statistics and begin to feel hopeless. This week, I saw a rural village in Uganda come together to build a school and I felt nothing but hope. We arrived at the Building Tomorrow work site and were greeted by parents, grandparents, community leaders and, as always, plenty of children who instead of being in school, were showing up to build a school. There were songs, speeches, handshakes, and hugs. Then we all grabbed hoes and we got to work. We spent the next three days side by side in the scorching heat and in the pouring rain. We shared stories, sweat, songs, and laughter and, brick by brick, we built a school that will educate over 400 children each year. These children are not just statistics anymore. They have names and personalities; they have joyful hearts and eager minds…and now, they will have a school.
I have never met a child in the U.S. who has built his or her own school. I have decorated my children's classrooms back home, but I have yet to meet a parent there who has laid the foundation or dug the latrine. As I watched mothers with babies strapped to their backs swinging hoes and young giggling girls balancing bricks on their heads, I knew I was witnessing something more than just a construction site. This was a dream site. This community wasn’t there to build walls with us; they were there to build a dream. A dream that will grow day by day, brick by brick. A dream that will, hopefully, extend beyond those very walls and that small plot of land. A dream that could very well someday change the statistical landscape of Uganda. I feel honored to have lifted a hoe, laid a brick, and shared the dream.