today, i had an interesting day at work.  in case you don’t know, i work at a small nonprofit that helps develop self-sufficient communities, three strand cord.  part of developing self-sufficiency is creating economic opportunities.  part of that, for us at least, is giving small loans so that worthy entrepreneurs can start and improve their businesses.

so, in the last few weeks, we have been discussing one woman who owns a small food stand where she sells chicken and plantains in port au prince.  she makes about $150 profit a month which is a solid income. coupled with working part time as a cleaner, she uses this money to support her five children and two children who belong to her deceased sister.  from the start, i admired her tenacity.

then, the committee who makes these decisions decided to give her a small loan to help her business: to help her fix her freezer and to buy a larger grill to cook more food.  awesome, i thought.  this woman is a good business woman, and she seems like a good investment.  yay for us.

today, our operations director in port au prince sent in the loan agreement documentation.  essentially, it says “we give you the money and you agree to pay us back on this schedule.”  i opened it, just to review, and i was stopped in my tracks.  on this totally boring form stood an amazing revelation for me, and it looked like this:

this woman — a woman who was supporting a family of eight with her own ingenuity and her own gumption — can’t write.  she cannot even sign her own name.  likely, she can’t read.  no one took the time to give her the training that i have already provided for my five year old son.  and yet…  

i actually started to cry.  i started to think about how this woman has every excuse to bemoan her lot in life.  she lives in a hard country.  she lives in a tough city.  she has children that are not her own.  she hasn’t even a basic education.  and yet…

and yet, she has created a successful business and found resources to support her family.  and yet, rather than complain, she has acted.

the more i thought about this amazing woman, the more i wanted that to be said of me.  and yet…

but how do i do that?  i realized a good first step was to stop seeing the complications and troubles in my life as stop signs and start seeing them as speed bumps. begin to know that no matter what i fear that i am lacking that God has promised that he is made perfect in my weakness.  to remind myself that grace surrounds me.

the speed bumps i have are far less daunting than this woman’s.  i have a master’s degree.  i have no one else’s kids at my house.  i live in a great country that provides all sorts of services to people.  i have a great family.   my speed bumps look more like 15 extra pounds.  they look like a overwhelming fear of talking to people about money.   they look like an inability to find my keys.  sometimes, they are more daunting.  they look like chronic illness.   and yet…

i am looking forward to writing that part of the sentence; looking forward to all that will be said after the “and yet”.  the first part is written for me.  the challenges and complications are already there.  the exciting possibilities lay in the second half.  after the “and yet.” the second part is up to me to determine.

i challenge you to consider this as well.  what have you been giving too much space in your sentence?  where have you used a period when you should have used a comma?   what do you want to follow your and yet…?  it’s exciting to think about what is possible.