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.