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Tomorrow I’ll board a plane and travel all the way back to Rwanda, the place that completely turned my life upside down just over a year ago. I’ll go to deliver important papers for Odette’s girls. I’ll go to visit the children of another woman who’s been separated from her kids for five years. I’ll go to see how much Bella’s grown and to help Esteria move into the little house that love built. I’ll go for all these reasons, but above all I’ll go to make peace, to surrender, to stand in my field and say yes to all the things that have been growing in my heart for so, so long.
I wished hard many times this year to be somebody else. Somebody who was more easy going, less complicated, more reasonable, less dramatic, but in the end none of my efforts mattered. At the end of the day, there’s no one to be really, but your own dear self, however happy or haunted, and so I painted this for me–and for you.
My new lovely website and my well-intentioned art sale and all my other delightful projects are on their way, but today, before I go, this seemed like the most honest thing to share. Your presence (and mine) matter in this world, and we are most alive when we are brave enough to live our lives fully, believing as best we can that it’s true.
Life is moving so fast over here, I can hardly breathe. I feel like I’ve been put on a wild adventure and am doing my best to hold on for the ride. In matters of housekeeping, here are a few matters worth noting!
The Little House That Love Built. Many of you have followed the story of Esteria–Odette’s mom–and contributed this winter to the building of a brand new house for her, after the rains destroyed hers last year. I am so relieved and happy to tell you that workers are doing the finishing work on the house right now and that Esteria WILL BE MOVING IN NEXT WEEK! The war in the Congo seriously impacted this project as the price and availablity of lumber skyrocketed, but with your help we did it, and I am making plans to go to Rwanda to see this dream come true at the end of the month.
Odette’s girls. I keep thinking I’ll be able to write any day now and say, “They’re coming! They’re coming!” but that isn’t the case quite yet. What is happening is we are finally making concrete progress in bringing them here and are in the stage of the game now where the finish line is in serious sight. Part of the reason for my trip this month is to carry important documents that will hopefully enable the girls to travel in the near future. I won’t be able to bring many things on this trip, but I will carry cash for Odette’s extended family. This cash will help them solve problems related to health, nutrition, farming, education and transportation. If you would like to make a contribution, 100% of the money I collect will go directly to the family, including the girls. Donate here.
Odette’s HopeFULL dinners and more.Odette has work documents now, is working as a cook in a sandwich/coffee shop and just moved in to her very first home after a life time of either being a refugee, homeless or living with people who were strangers first and then friends. To say she is ecstatic about this would be an understatement! Odette’s also been offering African cooking classes and together we’ve been hosting dinners in people’s homes where Odette cooks an African feast and then we tell the whole story of how we met. The dinners have been very inspiring for people, and Odette & I are learning lots about how to tell our story and connect with a wide range of people. If you live in the DC area and would like to host, I can send you info.
Picture Hope. In case you were wondering what the scoop is with Picture Hope, I’m in the process of finalizing paperwork with Lenovo/Microsoft so we can start booking tickets. The whole Name Your Dream Assignment Team has been fantastic and so, so supportive, and we’ve been delighted at how much freedom Lenovo/Microsoft are giving us to really do this trip in a way that makes sense for us and the project. Our first big trip is in August where we’ll go to Rwanda and Tanzania, followed by a trip to Bolivia and Peru in the fall. We’re looking at stories in Turkey, Israel and Palestine for late winter and will finish up with an Asia trip (Nepal, Tibet, Indonesia and Philippines are on the list right now). The entire $50,000 will go towards financing these trips, so we are partnering with Epic Change (a truly wonderful non-profit) to offer ways for readers to give directly to the people whose stories we tell, so that our impact is immediate and effective. My art & storytelling will play a big part in this new kind of activism, I hope.
New Site and Three-Day-Only Art Sale. This blog is going through a major makeover. On the flip side, I’m hoping to make more space to tell stories I haven’t been able to share in this space as it is right now. With all the changes on the horizon, I’m excited, scared, anxious, hopeful, happy and freaking out all at the same time. I’ve missed this space and the kindness of friends who will comment during the last few months, but I think the hibernating has been good. To celebrate this transition and this new beginning, I’m having a three day only art sale next week with originals and some prints for sale for a limited time. I have a trusty assistant in the amazing Rachael Maddox which is the only way something like this could be possible for me. Follow me on twitter for the latest details.
Phew! That’s a lot. I’d love to hear totally random comments below–like what movie you saw last week, what you ate for breakfast or what you’re dreaming of these days. I’ve missed you.
I’m starting to feel energized about the idea of closing this chapter of my life, putting things in order and finishing some of the work we started here together, so something new can unfold.
One thing that feels complete right now is my art. I have used this particular style of art to pull me through to a new place over and over again. Each message I’ve painted is one I desperately needed to know down to my bones. I’ve held on tight to my art over the years, feeling anxious about letting it go, wondering if it could mean as much to someone else as it means to me. I know now that all that doesn’t matter as much as being willing to let it go, so I’m preparing this week for an online sale of over 30 original paintings. I’m not sure exactly how I’ll sell those pieces (in an auction? by donation? by drawing? for a fixed price? feel free to leave your thoughts on that) but I’m trusting that solution will come to me, along with a cohort to help me pack and ship in a super timely manner. (Please God.)
Hand in hand with that goes this overwhelming thankfulness I feel for every single person who has ever encouraged me about my art–either by reading this blog or buying something or leaving me a comment or writing a handwritten note. I’m wondering how I can say thank you or what tangible thing I could do to express how deeply I carry around all that kindness. I’m convinced there needs to be something specific and tangible, and am musing on that often right now, waiting for a spark of ingenuity.
For Putting Things in Order (Part Two), I want to let you know what’s up with Odette, the girls and things in Rwanda, because it looks like some of the dreams we shared in that story are about to come true, too.
I’m in a strange place with this blog, and all the other forums where talking is required.
Everyday I stare at this blog banner and think to myself, “Something healing this way came.” Whatever I started here feels finished to me, so I wonder what to write, what more can possibly be said.
I’ve had this situation with a blog before. Some of you remember way back in 2003-2005 when I had a totally different blog, when I wrote about my kids and faith and spirituality and even (gasp!) church. I wrote that blog until all those topics started to make me slightly crazy, so I quit and not only stopped blogging but also took all my archives down. It was Google suicide, but I didn’t care. I knew I wanted to be a part of a very different conversation and it felt good to make a clean break.
I spent the next year being a housewife, trying for the tenth time to save my marriage, trying to be domestic, trying to do ordinary things. I have to say all of those things made me very happy even though I was hardly successful at any of them. I spent that year with a little spiral notebook and a box of watercolor paints and I painted and painted until my soul started to heal a little, even if everything else was mostly the same.
At the end of the year, I went to Blogher, thanks to my sister, who was launching a business and thought it would do both of us some good to be there. I spent the entire time chatting with people who I did not know would eventually become soulsisters and dear friends. I had no idea at the time how those friendships would shape and change my life.
By fall, with my family settled in a new place and my little urban family well on its way, I decided I was ready to be a part of a new conversation–about art and creativity–and this blog was born. This blog carried me through all kinds of twists and turns. I learned how to take risks. I faced rejection. I asked for help. I found a new way to be a part of a community. I got my heart cracked open in a really serious way and had more than one major dream come true.
Now, one year later after being in Rwanda, I’m aware that my whole life is very different than when I first started. My relationships have totally shifted and changed. My focus has moved from art to activism. My desire is to be quiet and have things unfold more than shake and move to make things happen. I’m much more serious now about what’s important to me, and I’m more focused on using my energy to see real world changes unfold on a global scale. I’m not as uptight or as easygoing as I used to be and in many other ways I am much more tender and tough.
All this puts this blog in a strange place. How do you blog when you mostly want to be quiet? What do you say when you mostly want to listen? How do you share when your stories get stranger and stranger by the second? How do you explain how thankful you are that this blog and this community brought you to this spot in the first place? How do you say how much you wish you could keep giving because you’ve been given so much?
I don’t have the answers to any of that, and I’m not about to take all my archives down and disappear again, but I am aware that a change is coming. I wish I knew how to thank you for being in this with me for so long. I wish it were the kind of change that could be negotiated in person, but that’s the problem with blogs. The screen will have to do.
Thank you for coming with me on this strange and complicated journey.
Thank you for understanding how much I need the people I love.
Thank you for being willing to be included in my sometimes scary, often times unpredictable brave new world.
Thank you for walking up the stairs when it never occurred to me that I needed you.
Thank you for standing beside me when it was best not to be alone.
Thank you for sinking deeper into your own world and your own dreams.
Thank you for trusting me as I pursue my own.
Thank you for being a kid, silly and sweet.
Thank you for saying no when doing so preserves your soul.
Thank you for letting me take care of you.
Thank you for being so uniquely determined to be your own person.
Thank you for being patient.
Thank you for loving and for being willing to be loved.
I admire and cherish you more than you will ever know.
Today more than any other, I understand, we are together.
Sometimes when you’re in a spot where there’s nothing to do but wait, the very best thing you can do is move. Right now I’m waiting for so many things–the beginning of one thing, the ending of another, word about who will win the Dream Assignment, word about when Odette’s girls will come (we’re getting close!) and so, so much more.
The other night my sister and dear friend Fatou invited me to the gym to go to a dance class. All of you who have ever seen me dance are laughing right now. I’m a dead ringer for Mary Catherine in Sister Act, the timid little white girl who still looks like she’s stuck in a box even when she’s busting out her moves. Still, without shame, I took my extremely white, boxed in body to dance class with Fatou and tried to keep up while women of every shape and size and a hundred shades of brown danced like I’ve never danced before. And just when I thought it would never end, our very round instructor put on another shake your booty classic (from Jamaica! from Colombia! from Nigeria!) and everyone would go at it again.
I quickly realized it wasn’t worth the energy to try not to look ridiculous, so I brought my tiny white butt to the mix and–as Myriam likes to say–”shook my money maker” for every penny it’s worth.
This morning, totally sore and happy for the memory of looking ridiculous in such joyous company, I’m deciding it really is worth the embarrassment of being revealed as uptight and white (which I am) for the chance to really move. Because to move your heart, your mind, your soul, your world, your body–in ways you’ve never moved before might be the most joyful thing of all–no matter how you look doing it.
“To live in this world, you must be able to do three things: to love what is mortal; to hold it against your bones knowing your own life depends on it; and, when the time comes to let it go, to let it go”
–Mary Oliver
For more photo essays, see my work at shuttersisters.com.
For more photos and stories about my experience in Rwanda, start here.
About Me:
From riding on the back of a motorcycle in the hills of Rwanda to helping modern day slaves in the Washington DC suburbs, Jen Lemen’s dreams have carried her across continents and back again to her artist studio where she cultivates hope in the essays she writes and the illustrations she creates. Jen’s work has appeared in Good Housekeeping, The Huffington Post, Memory Makers magazine and online exhibits of the International Museum of Women. She is a regular contributor to the collaborative photography blog shuttersisters.com and www.pbsparents.org/supersisters—a child development blog she writes with her two real life sisters. Blogging since 2002, Jen uses social media to tell stories that can open doors, shift perspectives and deepen our understanding of what it means to be human. You can contact her for sage advice on social media, storytelling, parenting and more at jen dot lemen at gmail dot com.
My name is Jen Lemen. I'm messy, hopeful,
enthusiastic and helplessly in love with the idea
that stories can change you and me forever.