The days go by...

Today was somewhat of a black hole day. A day in which you feel like you’re being held down by something… or you can’t get out of something. Like you want someone to reach in and shake you… reach in and offer a hand to pull you out. It’s a bit like you feel something inside of you shaking around and rattling the ‘ole rib cage. But mostly it just feels dark. And endless.

And it came about because there are days when I have forgotten what Africa feels like. Today was one of those days. I couldn’t remember what Africa felt like. And therefore, as in the words of Jill, “What I felt like.”

I want to remember what it felt like. What Africa felt like.

What it was like to dig my toes in the sand and stare out across the Indian Ocean.

What it was like to ride the piki across the plains, chasing the impala and running from the towering clouds behind… to ride into the Naivasha sunset. What it was like to sit on that couch in Westlands and dream about a new world…dreaming about love, peace, faith, and our hope. What it was like to feel the crispness of the incoming rain to wash away the blood of the endless wars.

What it was like to listen to the stories of pain, loss, grief, war, and death. And also to listen to the stories of life, love, joy, and hope.

What it felt like to cross that mountain pass between Tanzania and Burundi. Carrying our packs across that narrow trail through the mists. Into that beautiful place torn by war and conflict. To gaze upon those misty mountains alone with God.

What it felt like to look through my lens at a boy whose head was badly burned in the war. To look through that same lens at the starving grandmother and her son.

What it felt like to look into the eyes of those dear women in Congo and see Jesus staring back at me, quietly whispering, “Will you love me? Because here I am.”

What it felt like to look into the blue eyes of that boy in Huruma...his eyes seemed like the gateway to the world. Eyes not of a five year old but of someone who has seen it all.

What it was like to stand on top of Byoona Amagara (meaning whole life) in Lake Bunyonyi and watch the storm come in. The waves whitecapping. The wind picking Jill and I up as if to mock us, as if tempted to fling us up and away across the lake. What it was like to feel the untouched power behind the wind and the waves…to feel God.

That day it all made sense. I felt like me.

And how it seems I’ve forgotten. What all of that felt like.

The smells. The dirt between my toes. The sunsets. The pure mountain air. The chill of the Naivasha night. The warmth of a fire. The love of friends. The community. The purpose. The passion. And the hope…

And I suppose that is why I want to write again. Why I’m writing this…So that I might remember and never forget. That I would act on those promises I made in my heart to the people of Burundi and Congo. My hope is that their stories will spur someone on to love and good works. That their stories might convict us to act…to change…to love.

Love someone today. Be nice to old people. Be still. Just BE. Run around barefoot on some grass. Do something you “can’t” do. In Manalive, by G.K. Chesterton, Michael Moon states, “Let us go and do these things we cannot do.”

Let’s.

grace and peace to you.

lovewill

And now what?

Well, I keep having these thoughts or these memories and think to myself, “I should blog about that…” but haven’t been able to because I didn’t want to start a blog in the middle of nowhere.  So here goes a “brilliant”—this is me—introduction and purpose of this blog. 

 

I have no reason for anonymity.  My name is Will Watson.  I am 19 years old.  I graduated from Texoma Christian School in Sherman, Texas in May of 2007.  I’ll get to the whole life story part at a later date but I recently returned home after spending six months in Africa.  In Kenya, God sent some angels to me in the form of the two coolest people in the world: Jill and Bethany.  We traveled some 2,600 miles through five countries in Eastern Central Africa with three backpacks and hearts desiring love.  While in Africa writing became some sort of a cathartic release… I now find solace in writing.  I want to record the memories of Africa.  The joys, the pain, the laughs, the fun, the sorrow, the struggle, and the passion.  The love.  I want to dream again.  And for now, this is my attempt.

 

So come dream with me.  Let’s hope together.  Let’s ask the hard questions and search for the answers.  Let us “call everything by it’s right name.” (Into the Wild). 

 

Grace and peace to you. 

 

lovewill

I have lived through much, and now I think I have found what is needed for happiness. A quiet secluded life in the country, with the possibility of being useful to people to whom it is easy to do good, and who are not accustomed to have it done to them; then work which one hopes may be of some use; then rest, nature, books, music, love for one’s neighbor — such is my idea of happiness.  

-Tolstoy