The Art of Suffering

I’m reading this book called “Searching for God Knows What” by Donald Miller. I am almost convinced that it is better than the book he is known for, “Blue Like Jazz”.  Anyway, Miller touches on The Fall, Jesus’ life, and modern Christianity.  I know it sounds like any other book on Christian spirituality but Miller paints a picture of Jesus that is changing the way I think. A friend told me before we left for Africa that she had been struggling with the concept of suffering. And it’s not the way you would think. She can’t comprehend how the majority of the world is in constant pain, yet we have so much. Too much. What flip of the coin landed her in America vs. living in an orphanage in Africa? She said that question has really been weighting on her heart these days. I had both of these things on my mind, (how Jesus lived and the concept of suffering), the day Krystin and I met Jane. I thought I understood these ideas, but that was before all of this happened. It’s been a few weeks ago, but I think this is a story you should hear.

Today (January 25), Krystin and I met a woman named Jane. We were wandering around Kampala, looking like the biggest tourists in the world. The boys had dropped us off and we had time to roam around downtown. We had our Lonely Planet book in tow and I'm sure we looked so confused. This woman, Jane, came up and introduced herself. She asked if we needed directions. We were hesitant, thinking she was looking for some sort of compensation for her assistance. But before she even gave us the directions we needed she went on to tell us how God had changed her life. I know what your thinking, awkward right? The thing is, it wasn't. She was so inspiring. You could tell that everything she said was real. She gave us directions and told us how her husband had died, leaving her with 4 children. She told us how God had provided for her ever since. Even as she said this, I was still wondering if this was just a good scam. As we turned to leave, she told us she would pray for us, for our future husbands, that Jeremiah 29:11 would come true and that we would be safe in the city. Then she handed us a paper and walked away. Our run-in with Jane left Krystin and me in deep conversation about how awkward it would be if we started doing that back at home in the U.S. How people would look at us so oddly and how we would feel so stupid. Yet, at the same time, Jane's sincerity and total trust in God's provision was refreshing. We both wondered if maybe we should all be more like Jane.

We finally reached our coffee shop destination and opened the paper Jane had given us. It was a letter from the Ugandan Parliament that basically said that Jane is an amazing person who is involved in her community and took care of 7 children full time. The letter was saying it is ok to give her money. I think we are going to help her.

We left the coffee shop and headed the mall. The mall, titled Oasis, is in the nicest part of town. It’s the only place where being a Muzungu (a white person) isn’t an oddity. It’s in an upscale part of town, in the middle of the city, across from the parliament building. I’m telling you this because I want you to know how strange it was when Krystin and I saw a girl sitting completely naked in front of the mall. Now let's be honest. One of the first things that comes to mind when one hears the word “Africa” are those naked children and topless woman pictures from National Geographic magazines. But this is Kampala, the capital city. Everyone is dressed in business suits and nice dresses. Absolutely NO ONE is topless. Much less naked. I’m pretty sure Krystin and I just stared for a good 5 seconds before we got hold of ourselves. The girl was facing a wall with this ashamed look about her. She was probably about our age, with more pain and wisdom in her eyes than we will ever know. Though she was young, her breasts were sagging and droopy as if they alone carried the weight of her suffering - as if life had sucked away her youth. It was understood between Krystin and me that we wanted/needed to do something but we didn’t want to draw more attention to her than necessary so we past her by. We walked in silence for a few minutes, each of us wordlessly debating what to do. Finally, I broke the silence. “I just keep thinking ‘I was naked and you clothed me.’” I said. Krystin agreed, saying that the same verse had been running through her mind as well. We headed to the mall to buy the girl some sort of cloth to cover herself with. The plan was to go and offer her the cloth, and then ask if she needed anything else. We searched for 30 minutes but everything in the mall was out of our price range. We headed back out to the street, just to ask her if she wanted our help, but she was nowhere to be found. We looked around for 5 or 10 minutes but to no avail. The girl was gone.

We will never know what happened to her. We will never hear her story or what predicament landed her naked in the middle of the city. We will never find out if she could have used our help or if she had people to help support her. We walked away in a daze and couldn’t shake the feeling that we had just missed out on a golden opportunity. An opportunity to show someone who Jesus really is.

We headed back to our coffee shop, Café Javas, and spent the rest of the afternoon feeling guilty in our luxury. On our way out of the shop a few hours later, we walked by a man with no legs. He was begging on the side of the road.  As we passed, I handed him 1000 shillings, hoping that he would never know how small a sacrifice my gift actually was ($0.50).  I think I was hoping my donation would ease my conscience. It didn’t. 


Every time we go back to town, we make sure to pass by that corner and look for the man with no legs. We give him money regularly. I think I hope that some how, our small contributions will make up for the opportunity Krystin and I missed that day. I hope that the next time someone is in need, I won’t even stop to think about helping them. The response will be automatic. I aspire to have a faith strong enough that it is evident in my actions. And maybe, just maybe, one of these days I will be able to rank myself with the likes of Jane.