For days, I’ve been trying to write about Haiti, but it keeps coming out Congo. I have a friend who is tirelessly campaigning to get tents to Haiti, and she asked me to blog about it, and I’ve tried, I really have. I care about Haiti, and we’ve given money to relief efforts. But it’s not the same. Congo is more than a cause now. But what is it? I don’t know. I don’t know what it is. All I know is that I can’t write to you about Haiti right now, not with any real conviction or passion, you’d see right through me, you’d know my heart was saying Congo all that time, and while it makes me feel a little heartless, a little guilty, not to have enough room for both, what I really believe is that everyone has their Congo, whether they’ve found it yet or not, and we’ve all got to latch on and fight like mad to do something.
And there it is, the man who plays guitar until his fingers bleed, because he’s trying to say something. Something about life and about art, the way we couldn’t paint without dark colors, and there is a beauty about Bishop and his bottles of Coke and Sprite and Fanta that I will never find the words for. But I will not stop trying.
You’ve just read a blurb from the blog of my friend, Erin. Doesn’t she write beautifully? You can read the entire post for context here.
I keep trying to add my own thoughts to explain how much this segment impacted me, but they’re too jumbled to make much sense. Through her words, I’ve had light shed on the fact that I don’t have to be involved in everything. Instead, I want to find my “Congo”. And, coinciding with my word being contentment this year, I want to be content with what God lays on my heart, rather than trying to live up to what He’s laid on the hearts of others.
Thanks, Erin. Keep fighting.