I’m going to take a step back to another place, another time, and another world.

It’s late August on a Sunday morning in a small Ugandan village. A large tent has been erected and a crowd of over fifty people gather underneath. Most are from the village, but a few have traveled from Kampala. Three guests came all the way from the United States. Sunday mass is always a big gathering in Uganda, but today is a special. This morning the crowd has congregated in front of a new cement house. A crumbling mud hut lies just to the right of it. This celebration is for the new house and the family that will soon be living in it. Rose’s house. Rose’s family.

Like many others in rural Uganda, Rose’s life has not been an easy one. She’s dealt with more sickness, loss, and pain than anyone should have to bear. But one thing you should know about Rose is that she is a survivor. She raised a son who was crippled by the effects of malaria. She buried her husband and kept raising their eight children as a single mother. She overcame an unforgivable intrusion of her home and her body. Through everything, she has remained focused on raising her children to be both educated and compassionate.

We met Rose during our second trip to Uganda in March 2016 and immediately recognized her strength and resilience. When we saw her crumbling mud hut and heard about all her struggles, it was she could use some good in her life. One of the members from our group recognized that and soon after returning back to the U.S. had raised the funds for Rose’s new home. It would cost just $1,200 to build Rose a brand new house, complete with a sturdy door and lock.

The completed house was beautiful. Almost as beautiful as Rose and her family. Rose absolutely glowed. She couldn’t express her gratitude in our language, but we could see it in her eyes. Her eldest son, David, gave a beautiful speech in nearly perfect English. His voice broke when he mentioned how happy his father would have been to see the new house and the family thriving with all children in school. The second son, Vincent, turned to Sister Salome to express his deep gratitude for helping him attend school at Our Lady of Guadalupe. His words will stick with me forever: “How can I ever repay you? All I can do is study so hard in school and make you proud.”

The power of community was present on that Sunday morning. Many tears fell and spirits soared. Though we may be worlds apart from that small community in rural Uganda, we breathe the same air and share the same heart.

Of course, where there is inexpressible emotion, there must be a poem. So here it is!

Hands & Hearts
By Laura Berry

She gazed at the house, could this be a dream?
It was all hers, like nothing she had ever seen.
The walls were smooth cement, as was the floor,
Complete with a tin roof and a thick, sturdy door.
She glanced back at the tiny mud hut just feet away,
Which had given in to rains and years of decay.
Today was a celebration, but she had tears in her eyes,
She thought of her husband gazing down from the skies.
Looking at her children, she knew he would be proud,
We must study hard to show our thanks, they had vowed.
In school they would work hard to create a better life,
Seeking every opportunity, escaping familiar strife.
She took a breath and walked into her family’s new home,
Though she was worthy, she could not have done it alone.
This house had been built by open hearts and strong hands,
By people of all colors from different cultures and lands.
She lingered in each room, praying thanks to the God above,
For revealing a community of compassion and limitless love.