A hundred days is the time it took to kill a million people in Rwanda.
That’s ten thousand people a day, every day, for one hundred days.
These ten thousand people were not being mown down by machine gun (mostly), they were hacked to death, one by one, by other people.
I didn’t complete the three hundred and sixty days I’d set myself to write last year.
Infact, I barely made sixty.
My sister had cancer, got worse, then died.
My brother had caner, got worse, then died.
My dog got tired, went blind, then died.
My niece died, my boyfriends nephew died.
I couldn’t do it, at the time I said, I just cannot go on writing – I don’t have it in me, never mind the time.
I wish I had.
I was afraid that nothing I wrote would be free of pain.
Now I’m sorry I didn’t record it.
Also, I learn that it’s what you do inspite of circumstance, that makes a difference
It’s Lent, and this year I feel lent.
You see, God has been with me through the worst times and is still here now.
So I’ve given up some things – and I’m going to walk him to the cross.
And then I’m going to walk sixty more days in search for love.
I’m going on a hundred day journey, for love, out of gratitude, in expectation, for myself.
I’m going to write about this, for myself.
I am going to journal – honestly – brutally – for me – for the record – for something to leave behind – as is – forever.
I am going to walk a hundred days
One day at a time.