Happiness is this right here.

{He is unusually photogenic, can't you tell?}

I have to admit that I'm pretty obsessed with my husband. We grew up together and my first memory of him dates back to the 2nd grade. He was two years older than me in school and I remember seeing him in the hallway on class picture day. He came to school in a big cowboy hat and I can remember thinking, "Who is that weirdo?" No joke. This actually happened. We never got around to talking to each other until I was 15, but the rest is history.

So anyway, it would be safe to say that since the age of 15 I have been obsessed with this guy. (And incredibly blessed) We got married young. I was 20, he was 22. People gave us crap about it, insisting we were too young and didn't know enough about life to get married. Family and even close friends thought we were nuts. We knew we were taking a huge leap of faith, but we were crazy about each other and it was all we wanted. Sidenote here: I've never understood people's annoyance, even anger, with couples getting married young. It's almost like we're doing something offensive. Why not just be happy for two people who love each other? Please leave your opinions at home if you can't do that, thanks.

We've been married for almost four years now and I cannot believe how amazing it is. It was the best thing I ever did. He is my best friend, the funnest person I know (even when he does his weirdo face in cute pictures like this one) and the only person I could spend 24/7 with. We're obsessed with spending time together, I mean even to the point of being ridiculous. We love going grocery shopping together, cooking together, and we never listen to the radio in the car because we can't stop talking. Now I'm not saying we're the Brady Bunch here, we argue from time to time like anyone. But thankfully we're too worried about "wasting time" to do that very often.

You might say we're crazy, even a little clingy, but I wouldn't have it any other way. We will never be the couple that takes separate vacations or spends more than one or two nights apart-that is unless it was absolutely unavoidable. And even then we'd probably freak out.

But this is my happiness. And it is the greatest thing ever.

Missing Uganda

I can't stop thinking about Uganda today. It blows my mind to think that it has been nearly a year since I was there. I left in early December, and here it is half way through September. How did that time pass so quickly?

It's amazing how deeply my heart aches for that place. Looking through pictures of the trip almost makes me need to cry. Ok, I'm a bit of an emotional head case at times, but this is how I feel about it every time I think of Uganda. I can still smell the breeze, taste that amazing tea, and feel the African sun on my skin. But even more I can see the smiles of the young children, screaming "Muzungo!" and reaching for my hand. It feels like yesterday, yet it feels so far away.

Uganda put a spell on me. It completely changed the way I think about life. I can remember stressing before the trip, wondering if this was a good choice. Sure, I had always wanted to go, but this girl grew in a tiny town (I'm talking 24 in my senior class) and few people I knew had traveled out of the US, so Africa was out of the question . People thought it was crazy and super dangerous. (Remember the LRA? Kidnappings, murder, rape...Ya, Uganda has a brutal past) I couldn't help but feel the same at times. Africa seemed like a different planet, far away from home and all the securities I was used to.

To make matters worse, a lot of my plans fell through about a week before I was supposed to leave. I found myself scrambling to find a place to stay and new hosts. It was crazy. At one point I even talked to the airline about getting a refund. I was crushed. Everyone was telling me not to go. I remember that turmoil and feeling like my dream was so close, yet slipping through my fingers.

Long story short I put my big girl panties on and made it happen. I wasn't about to let my dream disappear. I can remember thinking that if I made it through Uganda I could die a happy lady and have no regrets.

Taking that leap of faith was the best choice I ever made. It was where I started Sis Hope, where I found myself, and where I realized life is what we make it. And now I can die a happy lady.

I can only hope to return to that magical place one day.

Rape as a weapon of war in Congo

Girls as young as seven are being raped in Congo. I'm pissed and I've got something to say about it.

"While the primary responsibility for protection of civilians lies with the state, its national army and police force, clearly, we have also failed," said Atul Khare, UN Assistant Secretary-General for Peacekeeping. Khare is talking about the mass rapes that have taken place in DR Congo over the past several weeks.

500. This figure is staggering, but it's the most recent reported number of victims raped by Rwandan and Congolese rebels. Rape is being used as a weapon of war and innocent women, children and even young boys are suffering because of it. But this isn't anything new for Congo.

In 2009 alone there were 8,000 reported rapes in this region, a number which is probably far below what actually occurred. It's become known as the "rape capital of the world", where systematic gang rapes have become part of everyday life for some.

I was recently reading a BBC report that mentioned the story of a young girl, only 15 years old, who survived a brutal year as a sex slave in Congo:

'Her experiences exemplify this complex war raging against women. She was abducted by 10 rebels from the Interahamwe group accused of carrying out the genocide in neighbouring Rwanda. They kept her for about a year as a sex slave.

''They would rape me in turns. It got to a point where I did not feel pain.''

They fed her when they wished and gave her water from their gumboots to drink. She soon became pregnant. The rebels said she would be set free once she had given birth.

''One day they tied me to a tree and tried to pull the baby out. The blood... it just kept flowing.'

She says she can no longer feel pain and relates all this in a detached manner - cold and emotionless - and then ties a colourful wraparound around her waist and walks away."

When I first read this I could feel my eyes well up with tears. How could something like this happen? Sadly, her story isn't unique. Hundreds, even thousands of girls and women in Congo can relate to her story. And that makes me furious.

I keep coming back to that question: How can this happen? Of the 500 rapes reported, 242 were in and around Luvungi, a village not far from a UN peacekeepers' camp. Recent reports have surfaced claiming the UN was actually notified that rebel forces in the area were carrying out rape. Yet, nothing was done. (Although I should mention the UN is denying any such claims. See report.) Either way, the United Nations’ peacekeeping mission in Congo, which costs more than a billion dollars a year, has failed to stop widespread violence against civilians.

So what is being done about these rapes, anything? I simply can't understand how the UN could not have known what was going on under their noses. And if the claims are true that they really weren't aware of these rapes, I have serious doubts about the UN's capability to execute it's mission. Unfortunately, it is becoming increasingly clear that the UN may be better suited to clean up after disasters, rather than prevent them.

I believe these rebels should be hunted down and justice served for those who so desperately deserve it. The sad truth is that may never happen and I can't help but wonder why justice seems to be a privilege of the rich?

(P.S. I want to make it clear that I have always been a big advocate for the UN. I have admired their work for many years, however I think it is important to raise critical questions such as these pertaining to the rapes in Congo.)

Exactly where I'm supposed to be...

So I've officially been a graduate student for three weeks now. And I have to say...I love it.

I'll be honest here, after my first class I had a moment of panic. Was I really ready to be back in the classroom? Was I prepared? Could I keep up with the enormous reading assignments? Luckily, I was able to take a step back, check my self-confidence and realize this is exactly where I'm supposed to be...

I've had some great, and some not so great, experiences over the past few years as I've ventured through my 'quarter life crisis'. I walked away from law school one week before orientation back in 2007 and since then I've been on a search to find myself and figure out what I really want in life. I've had a lot of highs and lows, from working at a shelter where I was seriously almost killed by an overweight twelve year old, to realizing a life long dream and visiting remote villages in Eastern Uganda. (An experience so beautiful and profound that I could never possibly describe it in words.)

I have to say that I don't believe my 'quarter life crisis' is over. I don't think it ever will be actually, and strangely enough that makes me happy. It isn't a crisis at all, but a blessing. While I do want direction and clearly defined goals, (which I finally have now) I don't ever want to stop questioning life. I want to always be in tune with soul and very aware of myself. I want to grow and know more than I knew yesterday. I want to live with pure, uninhibited emotions. I want my life to be an adventure.

It's been a roller coaster, but it was all meant to be. I'm so grateful to be where I am today. Graduate school has been amazing so far and I can't wait to see what happens in the future. I'm learning about things I'm so passionate about: human rights, international relations, social justice, Middle East politics, economic development, etc etc.

I dream of being a professor and inspiring students to not only be passionate about these same issues, but also be moved to act and create waves of positive change for future generations. What a beautiful thing that would be.

First day of class = hot, sweaty mess

I'm generally always running late. It's probably something I should seek professional help for because, no matter what I do, I always end up late. My first day of graduate school was no different...

I live about 25 miles from school, so I decided to leave my house an hour early just to give myself enough time to get to campus, find a parking space, and get in class with plenty of time to spare. It is still pretty hot here in good ol Colorado and my main goal was to make it to my first day of class without being drenched in sweat.

So I make my way to campus, maneuver around the massive parking lots, and after searching for a good ten minutes I find perfect spot, really close to my building. I squeeze my way in, grab my wallet and take off for the parking meter, which by the way is located on the exact opposite side of this huge parking lot.

When I finally make it to the meter I see a note stating: "THIS METER ACCEPTS CASH ONLY". I'm screwed. I never, ever carry cash. If I have cash on my it is probably an accident. So I have no choice but to take off for my car and either a) find a parking lot that does accept my debit card or b) go find an ATM. I decide that I'm better off going to the gas station down the road and getting some cash.

At this poing I'm pissed. I'm annoyed this meter won't take my card, mad at myself for never carrying even five bucks in my wallet, and to make matters worse I am sweating. By this time it is about 2:12 and my class starts at 2:30.

I almost kill a pedestrian, but make it the gas station in record time. I race to the ATM, where I pay a $3.00 charge to get out 20 bucks. (grrrr) Just as I'm flying out the door I remember the meter doesn't take bills over $20. Parking is $4.50, so I decide it would be fast to just get change and play it safe with smaller bills. I run up to the cashier, hold out my $20 and say "Can I get change for this?"

"We don't give no change hunny," she says with a big smile that showcases the three teeth she has.

"Please, I am running late, I really need change."

"Sorry, can't do it."

So I grab two packs of gum, slam them down on the counter and say, "OK, then I want to buy this gum!"

"Are you sure you want two packs of gum?" (She looks at me like I'm crazy for wanting two packs)

"YES!"

"Ok, whatever you say..."

She slowly takes my money and starts to count my change when she looks up at me asks, "Do you have seven cents?"

"No"

"Ok...well do you have a nickel?"

"No, please ma'am can you hurry? I'm runing late for class?

"Well ok, but I'm low on change and I'm gonna hafta count out a dollar in dimes here..."

At this point I'm freaking out. It is now almost 2:20 and I'm definitely going to be late for class.

Susie Q finally gets me my change, I sprint out the door, with my two packs of gum and pocket full of dimes, and take off for campus.

I get back to the same parking lot, find a spot, grab $4.50 from my wallet and run for the meter. I get there, put my stall number in, and just as I prepare to slide in my money I notice it says I owe $5.50. At this point I'm the biggest idiot in the world, because I only took exact change to the meter (thinking I could run faster without my wallet in hand).

I have no choice but to run back to my car, grab my friggin wallet and sprint back to the meter. I'm basically on the verge of tears at this point.

Eventually, after exchaning some harsh words, I get the dang meter to accept my bills and I get my parking pass. I sprint back to my car, put it on the dash, grab my bag and take off for class.

I finally make it to class, where I walk in as a sweaty, hot mess just 30 seconds ahead of the professor.

And that my friends was my first day of graduate school.