So I made some beautiful baked doughnuts a few weeks ago.
I took pictures of the process. Step-by-step. You know how it works around here.
I dipped them in chocolate, I drizzled them with extra colored sprinkles, then I packed up my bags and headed to Uganda.
I had every intention of blogging about those doughnuts somewhere in between telling you stories about the people I met in Uganda and sleep.
There were a lot of stories to tell. More stories that I had words to describe. There was that afternoon fetching water with Kevin and her family. There was the afternoon in the Katwe slum with Hajarah, her mother, and hundreds of other little children clamouring for attention. Stories of poverty and need, sure… but mostly stories of compassion and hope.
But doughnuts? How do I talk about doughnuts? How dare I talk about doughnuts? Who cares about doughnuts ever again ever?!
I’ve been wrestling. There’s the jet lag, the memories of the beautiful people I met, the mosquito bites, the malaria pills, the suitcase filled with coffee, dirty clothes, and red dirt. There’s a sincere hope I’m holding on to…. and then these doughnuts.
Let me break it down. Consider this a public processing.