Back to Normal?

What is normal now? Can I watch my trashy Real Housewives shows when there is nothing real about those women? Can I still get my nails done every other week when I know I could send that extra $50 a month and really change someone's life instead of the color of my nails? How do I come back home when it does not really feel like home anymore? I just don't know how to incorporate what I saw, breathed, smelled, felt, and still feel good about living my life. I always do this. I want to change the world. Why can't I? Why does it feel like nothing I can think of is good enough? Why can't I bring those little babies home and fix their broken hearts? I have enough love for all of them, don't I? Why can't I scoop up those little girls walking barefoot to school and save them from dirty old men? Why can't I drill 1,000 wells to give them all fresh water? It seems so simple- why hasn't it all been fixed already? I cannot help but feel helpless as my tears blur these words on the screen. How do I do what I want, knowing what I know, and wanting to give such a big part of my heart to Rwanda?
Struggling . . . internally . . . hopefully not eternally . . .

Hatred I Have Not Known

Hate is killing your neighbor for no other reason then he is from a different tribe than you. Hate is swinging a baby against the wall of a church til death. Hate is chasing your colleague and then slaying her with a machete. This is hatred I have never known and hope to never experience. I cannot count the number of times I have misused this word. I hate liver and onions. I hate slow drivers. I hate inconsiderate people. My "hatred" pales in comparison to what the people of Rwanda experienced during the genocide of 1994. Do you know that was less than 20 years ago? Amazing that an ethnic cleansing of that degree could have happened not so long ago. We visited Nyamata, the church where thousands fled as they thought they would be safe from the killings. They were massacred with machetes, bullets, and grenades. All of their clothing remains, which is an incredibly sorrowful sight. There were less than 5 survivors and I cannot imagine how they made it out alive. Playing dead amongst their dead family and friends, emotionally and spiritually scarred for life. The most horrific story told by one of the survivors was of a woman who had refused to marry her Tutsi boyfriend. He was amongst the killers that day and was one of 20 men to rape her. They then stuck 2 long metal rods, horizontally and vertically through her body. One of the rods piercing her baby to her heart. I cannot fathom this level of hatred and I vow to remove this word from my vocabulary. I want to love the World extra hard to make up for those who hate it extra hard.