Joy

I still haven't fully decided what to use this blog for. My summer hasn't consisted of any exciting internships or trips, but nonetheless I still feel like writing is a great outlet and want to utilize it somehow. So for now, I'm just going to write.


Today, I cannot get the sweet people of Wakiso off my mind. The only slight similarity I can think of between my day today and the days we spent in Uganda was the act of counting out pills. This morning, it was to see how long I have left until I need to get my prescription refilled. Counting pills in Uganda, however, meant something totally different. For such a tedious, simple job, its impact was enormous. The pills I am referring to were multivitamins that were given to the 750+ patients we saw during the week. They were each given enough to last them a month. So here I am, counting out my pills to see when I need to run to the drugstore and get my prescription refilled, while the people that we cared for that week ran out of their pills long ago. How often do we take modern medicine and its easy accessibility for granted? In fact, in my microbiology class, we are talking about how antibiotic-resistance is increasing rapidly in Americans due to the overuse of these antimicrobial agents.


My time in Wakiso was just another confirmation of my desire to become a nurse. And with each passing day since I left that beautiful village, that desire grows more and more. I obviously don't have any big ideas on how to change the medical system of Uganda, or even any ideas on how to give the village of Wakiso a steady supply of something as simple as a multivitamin. But, for once in my life, I'm completely okay with not having a set plan. And, you know, so are the people of Wakiso. The simplest things go the longest way with them - which reminds me of one of my absolute favorite moments of the trip. The Sunday of the trip, we attended a church service at a local church. A little girl, about six or seven, ran up to me as soon as we walked in the door, grabbed my hand, and sat right on down in my lap. She didn't speak English and by no means am I able to speak Lugandan. But there was absolutely no communication barrier - only a language barrier. She knew I was there to love on her and I knew that that love was not only appreciated, but reciprocated. No words needed. With the rain pouring outside (which was a miracle in itself because they hadn't had rain in weeks), we danced and sang and just enjoyed the morning. At one point in the service, there was a time to come up and tell what God had done in their lives. The little girl sitting on my lap immediately ran up to the pastor and told him what she was thankful for. Through his translation, we learned that she said she was thankful for the shoes that we had brought her and the other children at the orphanage. Shoes. That's it. That's all it took for her to be thankful. When is the last time I took the time to be thankful after buying a new pair of shoes? More than likely the answer is never. Most would call these people and people from other third world countries "less fortunate" - but are they really less fortunate simply because they do not have access to the same things that we can access readily? In the midst of extreme sickness and heartache, they are some of the most joyful people I have ever come in contact with. Not just happy, JOYFUL. This just goes to show you that true joy in life does not come from what we have. It's simple -it comes from what you choose to make of what you DO have.