Musings

Here’s a loose paraphrase of something I heard from John Piper this week: “You’ve got to stop listening to yourself and start talking to yourself instead.”

Sometimes your thoughts seem organized. Your conscience feels clear. The mysteries of reality as we know it – though they remain mysteries – are not roadblocks to be overcome so that you can get on with the business of life. Sometimes you just feel put-together. Things make sense. You can see all the parts and you can see the whole, and there is a clarity about it. In these times you feel at ease, content, clear about yourself and what you’re doing. And your emotions are keenly aware of things, active as they should be – they feel sorrow with the heart-rending, they burst with joy over true delights, they leap with excitement over possibility, and they make sense…they react properly and bring life and meaning to what we experience.

Well, lately, I’ve been leaning in the opposite direction. The gray matter seems scattered, incoherent, and inconsistent, making it rather difficult to process life and figure out what to do with it. I can’t quite make sense of things that happen. How do all the pieces fit together? And what’s their point? Even when I do have some rational thoughts in my head, my heart seems deaf to their arguments, apathetic, dispassionate. Things I know should matter evoke a shrugging of my shoulders, I find myself unmoved. And so I begin to question them altogether. In creeps doubt. In many ways, Paul sums this up for the Galatians like this, “What has happened to all your joy?” Where’s your zeal people? Where’s the truth and purpose that once animated your life?! I’m not depressed, I’ve not fallen off the deep end, but my heart warns that something sinister threatens my battlements.

Most days I don’t think about this, though. Being the pragmatist that I am, I figure, “eh, sometimes that’s just the way it is…keep on with what you know, and you’ll come around.” I’m God’s child. He knows what He’s doing. He’ll sort it all out. Meanwhile, I pray, I read my Bible, I talk to friends, and I get on with daily priorities. I push away the concern and press on. Sometimes it’s quite helpful. There’s some merit to this position. Trouble is, I think there’s something missing.

Is that it? Is this the extent of the “riches” that the gospel offers: a vague hope that God’s in charge? It doesn’t sound like much to be excited about. What does the God who searches my heart and tests my thoughts see and think? What is He up to? My Father who never slumbers or sleeps, the One who began a good work in me and CARRIES it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus – what is He doing now? And what am I doing now? How am I responding to Him – to this God who promises things as audacious as joy, purpose, hope, rescue, FULLNESS in Him (and that’s barely scratching the surface)?

I’m disregarding what He’s told me and evaluating reality through my own microscopic perception and a host of fickle, deceived feelings. “If things are confusing…chances are they’re not valid or true.” “If this is so hard and feels so terrible, how could it possibly be right?” “If God promises all these things, and I don’t feel them, then He must not be that great, or trustworthy.”

Talk about audacity. Not to mention stupidity. Lord have mercy! The gospel is a LOT more than “just grim and bear it.” We’re a mess. Not just a little imperfect here and there, but sinful in every creative and invasive way possible. We don’t think right. We don’t feel right. We don’t believe what’s true. And even if we know better, it certainly doesn’t mean we’re choosing to do what’s right. I’m a hedonist to the core. I sacrifice well for one thing – my own happiness. And in doing so, I thwart it at every turn. I am in dire straights. Pathetic. I deserve a lot worse than the entitlement I assume is my right. Who am I? To be offered so much and to disbelieve it, disregard it, downplay it, effectively scorn and slander it…

To be plain, the gospel says I have a BIG problem (sometimes I realize this more than at other times…but it doesn’t change the fact.) The gospel says this problem cannot be ignored. In fact, it has calamitous consequences. And without a miracle, I’m toast. I’m guilty. It’s no one else’s fault. It’s embarrassing. I warrant God’s thorough disgust (traitor that I am), and I deserve payback (rejection, punishment, and shame). What do I have that He didn’t give me? What am I that He didn’t make me? What do I understand of how the universe should run - my brain is the size of a grapefruit? Who am I to evaluate God’s economy as though I had a better grasp of these things than the God of the universe? The gospel says in JESUS is the solution to my problem. Not some nice guy that listens to my complaints up in the sky and looks out for my best interest but the best, most loyal, trustworthy, genuine, right, good, perfect person I could ever imagine who walks up to the judge and offers to take my sentence and have his perfect file be counted as my own. My handcuffs are taken off, the door opened for my exit. A new lease on life. While he goes shackled down the corridor.

In the words of Jack Miller…when you trivialize your sin, you trivialize the gospel. I could grim and bear it, hoping that I’m better than I fear, and that this will pass. Or I can let my Father who loves me and wants the absolute best for me search out the crud, and over and over offer the forgiveness and freedom that He’s bought for me. Instead of ignoring that there’s a problem, or moaning that I’m afflicted with doubts and fear, I can own my part in elevating my own intellect and judgment and disbelieving what I have been told. In learning these things about myself and trusting in Jesus’ sweet work on my behalf, I find life. In resting on my own resources, I miss out on the riches. I miss the point. I dismiss the gospel and make God my servant.

‘Stop listening to yourself, and start talking to yourself.’ By God’s grace I’m talking His truth to myself instead of being led astray by the vain wanderings of my mind and the lusts of my heart. By grace I’m trading in my control, self-righteousness, and arrogance for something better. I want something better. I want to see clearly. I want to think rightly. I want to feel richly. I want to walk freely. After all, it’s FOR FREEDOM that He has set us FREE!

The president of Sudan has officially been charged with genocide, war crimes, and crimes against humanity. The UN is pulling some staff out of Darfur in anticipation of unrest. Please pray.

BBC info: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/7506242.stm

Well, it turns out that the International Criminal Court is to bring charges against Sudan’s president this week for crimes against humanity regarding the Darfur situation. While that’s an encouraging move indicating the problem has not gone unseen or ignored, and justice is being pursued, it does however, present a potentially volatile situation in the meantime. It could mean deteriorating peace, risk to aid workers and all sorts of general unrest. Please be praying as this happens. For safety. For justice. For the restoration and reconciliation of this country and its people.

To read more:

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/7502926.stm

I’m not a person who’s easily bored.  In fact, usually the experience is foreign to me.  I always have a million things to do, or a million things I want to do.  So sitting around twiddling my thumbs never quite happens…But today, in all honesty, I’m BORED.  Not a loafing about kind of bored, but the endless mining through emails to get caught up, sorting papers, filing through to-do lists, kind of bored.  I’m starting to think I might need a pair of those things that horses wear in races to keep their eyes from looking left or right so I can keep trudging along without looking for distractions to break the ennui every three seconds…

When you ask for help, though, you get it.  I asked God for help, and he gave me this:

A plane is on its way to Toronto, when a blonde in economy class gets up and moves to the first class section and sits down.  The flight attendant watches her do this, and asks to see her ticket.  She tells the blonde that she paid for economy class, and that she will have to sit in the back.  The blonde replies, “I’m blonde, I’m beautiful, I’m going to Toronto, and I’m staying right here.”  The flight attendant goes into the cockpit and tells the pilot and co-pilot that there is a blonde bimbo sitting in first class, that belongs in economy, and won’t move back to her seat.  The co-pilot goes back to the blonde and tries to explain that because she only paid for economy, she will have to leave and return to her seat.  The blonde replies, “I’m blonde, I’m beautiful, I’m going to Toronto, and I’m staying right here.”  The co-pilot tells the pilot that he probably should have the police waiting when they land to arrest this blonde woman who won’t listen to reason.  The pilot says, “You say she is a blonde?  I’ll handle this.  I’m married to a blonde.  I speak blonde.”  He goes back to the blonde and whispers in her ear, and she says, “Oh, I’m sorry,” and gets up and goes back to her seat in economy.  The flight attendant and co-pilot are amazed and asked him what he said to make her move without any fuss.  “I told her, ‘First class isn’t going to Toronto.’”

GRIN

Who’d have thought one of those ‘annoying forwards’ would be stuck in the midst of a bazillion emails for just such a moment?

I’m a little behind the times…last month (on my birthday) was my church’s women’s retreat at the beach. The week-end was a culmination of challenging things I’ve been working through…my heart was rather distraught. Here’s a bit of what happened…a few sprinkles of God’s ‘fairy dust’ into the plot.

On Saturday I took a solo walk at the beach.  It was a really atypical
day.  Normally I'd love the beach on a hot sunny day.  Saturday it
was brisk and windy.  A dense fog lay thick all around.  And the sea
was a wild broiling green.  It was mesmerizing and mysterious.  A
flock of gulls batted about the sky in wreckless abandon, sailing on
the these winds that I imagined were blown towards shore from God's
mouth, flinging themselves headlong into the hurdling waves where
there must have been a school of fish.  I walked.  I collected shells.
I licked the salt of the fog off my lips.  I slid into a hill of sand
and sat and watched the foam and spray dancing and leaping wildly on
the crests of the waves like acrobats and performers having the
performance of their lives and exulting in the height of the fray.
And in the midst of it all, His voice spoke calm into my heart.
And trust. "Be still and know that I am God."

It would appear there are some positive steps being taken to deal with the aforementioned fighting in Abyei, Sudan. Praise the Lord… http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/7442872.stm

This week I got an update from the Massos (my team leaders) about their recent trip to Sudan. The best part was that their three kids wrote on their blog about their own impressions (it was their first time to visit their future home). It tickled me pink, and inspired me to think creatively and thankfully about the wonderful things the Lord has planned and is providing…how He blooms exquisite flowers in desert places.

I hadn’t been thinking morbidly about going to Sudan, but realistically in the sense that this is hardly going to be some exciting adventure: I’m going to love people that have been through and continue to struggle with unimaginable hardships and evils.

But the fact of the matter is, God is in the business of redemption and recreation. That encompasses sensitivity to tragedy and handling it with great care, but dreaming and hoping the seemingly impossible and painting His glory all over creation with joyful and reckless abandon.

Do give these budding young observers a read: http://www.whmsudan.blogspot.com/

1 Timothy 6:17

As for the rich in this present age,

charge them not to be haughty,

nor to set their hopes on the uncertainty of riches,

but on God,

who richly provides us with everything to enjoy.

I just read on BBC this morning about a huge clash between North and South in Sudan (despite the peace agreement that ended violence in the 21 year civil war three years ago).  There are fears that this could reignite the war.  PLEASE be praying for those involved, that they would be willing to negotiate peacefully, that the Lord would preserve the peace in the country, and that those working to help conciliate and rebuild would have great wisdom and patience.  Pray especially that the gospel message would spread with new vigor to radically change lives, to bring hope and humility, grace and mercy, and best of all, love that heals and protects and looks to the interest of others.

For the full story visit:  http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/7418582.stm

In December I was accepted to work with World Harvest Mission in Southern Sudan for two years. It’s an uncanny thing to look back on my life and think, “I knew this was coming” and yet remember all of the doubts, the wondering if this is really the direction the Lord was leading me in; the discouragement of lamenting that I had nothing of ‘real value’ to offer (like a doctor, engineer, or nutritionist would); watching life meander according to different bearings; flourishing in the joy of growth in ministry here in the States; and questioning my desire and fitness to go - is this just me, or is it the writing of God on my life?

For the last four and a half months, the reality has begun to trickle in surrealistically. Like the active encroachment of the spring brewing and bursting just below the surface. I’m going to a place I have never seen before. An earth my foot has not felt beneath it. A people I have not known. A place my heart has not experienced or understood. So for months now, I have been praying into the mysterious unknown. Prayers without visible markers. Dreams without tangible destinations. Who are these people that I will meet, Father? What will they be like? Which ones will become dear to me…what unlikely brothers and sisters will you bring in a foreign land? What tragedies have they faced? And how will I share you? How will I speak to them - understand them - out of my life, and into theirs? What is this place I will call home? What new things will it show me? What will I do? How will you use me? What will this take? What will you do? What struggles will come? And what miracles of your grace will carry me soundly through them? And who will I be on the other side? And what imprint of you will shine when I have long gone?

I’ve prayed through all the things I’ve gleaned here and there - in books, articles, bbc reports, documentaries, statistical databases, blogs, and stories from people who’ve been there. And prayed out of my own heart and concerns - knowing my weaknesses, fears, temptations, and where I tend to get bunged up, and knowing the things that delight - my hopes, joys, dreams, and vision. And today I went to visit Bob Osborne, executive director of the mission, to chat with him about his recent visit to Mundri. He handed me a cd labeled “Best of Sudan” (photos from their trip.) And with a few questions, some quick comments, and a prayer for me, I headed out of the office feeling like I had some glimmering, living stones hidden away in my hand, feeling my heart quicken in my chest.

Tonight, errands, homework, and dinner tucked behind me, I got the cd out - feeling that funny feeling again. Of strange things just below the surface - things unknown, yet somehow also known. I don’t remember it, but my aunt always tells me about how when I was a kid, I’d watch wide-eyed the infomercials about needy children in other countries. And then at bed time, how I would pray for them with such feeling. I don’t know what moved my heart then, and to a certain extent, with all the life I’ve lived now, and for all the ways the Lord has grown me, I’m not entirely sure I could sum up what moves me today as I think of this place and people. But here it was, my eyes seeing for the first time a place that has somehow lived in me for years. Magical mumbo jumbo to a skeptic, but life fraught with mysteriously glimmering purpose and meaning in God’s economy. And I drank it in.

“For we are God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.” Ephesians 2:10

This life, therefore,
is not righteousness but growth in righteousness,
not health but healing,
not being but becoming,
not rest but exercise.
We are not yet what we shall be, but we are growing toward it.
The process is not yet finished, but it is going on.
This is not the end but it is the road.
All does not yet gleam in glory but all is being purified.

-Martin Luther

The other day I was driving to work behind a ramshackle old VW whose sorry behind was plastered over with bumper stickers.  Inside the windows you could barely see the driver for all the piles of who-knows-what stuffed in the back seat and trunk.  He was turning, but before I swept past him and lost his exclamations to the world, I caught, “If you want to wear fur…stop shaving.”

That’s exactly what spring is to me. The days get longer, the sun seems to sparkle, the air is warm, full of the smell of earth, the birds are twittering about…and I lose my head altogether. Forget studying. Forget getting anything done, to be honest. Goodbye dark winter, hello hope and life! Hallelujah!

There was some poem I wrote about this…or maybe it was more about daydreaming while in class - because the spring just makes your head malfunction and your heart rise in your chest. I seem to remember really liking it…I’ll have to go see if I can dig it up someplace.

Meanwhile, I’m starting my seeds inside today and it is a glorious thing. If I could have my hands in the dirt and tend greenly growing things for the rest of my life I’d be happy as a clam.

So here’s my darling crocus’ up to say the balmy days will fast take over…and this year’s choices for my flower boxes and baskets.

Lord make me an Instrument of Your peace;
where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
and where there is sadness, joy.
Divine Master, grant that I may not seek
to be consoled as to console;
to be understood, as to understand;
to be loved, as to love;
for it is in giving that we receive,
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life. Amen

St. Francis of Assisi

bronchitis, that is.

Day Four. Twentieth Hour. Temperature: 99.4 degrees F. Mission: Care for Neglected Blog. Phase One: Breaking the Silence.

Motto lived by for much of 2007: You can postpone for tomorrow what can be left ’til tomorrow.

Motto revised: Don’t leave for tomorrow, what you can do today.

Biblical Reference: Colossians 3:23,24 “Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men, since you know that you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as a reward. It is the Lord Christ you are serving.” NIV

My life is one enormous grandfather clock. In high school and a few years beyond, the pendulum seemed stuck up at legalism. I ran a tight ship. God’s standards were high and clear. I knew I was supposed to strive towards perfection and that’s what I did. When I missed the mark it was time to re-evaluate. What went wrong? What needs to change? Ok, let’s formulate a new plan and full speed ahead.

For a number of years thereafter I hit a new and formidable roadblock. I can’t be perfect. No matter how hard I try. I don’t even come close. No matter how many times I put forth a valiant effort. Even if I seek the Lord’s help. So what’s the point? That’s when I met discouragement and disillusionment. Nevertheless I persisted half-heartedly, mired with guilt and self-floggings because ‘what else was I supposed to do?’ The pendulum had plunged desperately low towards its mid-swing.

And then there was grace. Well, she’d always been around, I just kind of rediscovered her, or maybe realized she wasn’t the person I’d thought she was…or even better…that she was actually a person I never dreamed she really was. (If she were a person, that is) Grace showed me she’d known all along I couldn’t do it. That’s kind of the point of Christ’s coming and sacrifice. I didn’t desire the things I should. I didn’t have the will power to mobilize the things I needed to. And I couldn’t make it right. But God loves me and has a plan! I’m set free from the letter of the law, and it was fulfilled in Jesus. He’s remaking a cracked pot. WOO HOO! (By now the pendulum was in full-throttle upswing)

And this year my pendulum might just have started hanging out at ‘license.’ And I think license’s favorite saying is “don’t worry.” Hence the motto: you can postpone for tomorrow what can be left ’til tomorrow. Translation: Do what you want. It’ll all work out in the end. It just wasn’t that obvious until recently. Somehow “as the Spirit leads” metamorphosed into “don’t worry,” or “leave it for later” or “fly by the seat of your pants” or “take them as they come,” depending on the day.

Nasty business however you look at it.

So I’m going for the milkshake method. A healthy dose of law (to show me what I’m aiming for) and a healthy dose of freedom (to remind me who I am in Christ). It means instead of killing myself to be perfect, I am free to mess up, crawl back to my Father, see the wreck I am more clearly, and see the gleaming gem He is more clearly, have Him pick me up and dust me off, and set me full speed ahead in the right direction. Not on my own. But in His strength, according to His purpose, in His time, and for His glory. Working with all my heart for HIM.

Day Four. Twenty-first Hour. Temperature: 99.8 degrees F (sigh). Mission: Care for Neglected Blog. Phase One: Breaking the Silence - ACCOMPLISHED

Hello All,

Some very hard news recently from the team I was with in Bundibugyo, Uganda this summer as they’ve encountered an outbreak of Ebola virus.  I would strongly urge and plead with you to check out the blog site of the team leaders “Myhres” listed under my Uganda links and be praying for them, their families, the containment of the epidemic, their emotions and physical stamina, and MUCH wisdom, in addition to the specific requests they mention.

Thanks so much.

or…well…maybe next time. But it was the first pro basketball game for me and Sahaj and I had a complete ball.

Sharron’s absolute cutie pie Sahaj.

Vern whooping it up. Pedro cheering for the Nets and teaching Sahaj to as well. Lovely Reese.

Okay, this has got be one of THE MOST hyped up Halloween activities with THE MOST disappointing takeaway. A bunch of us Red Lobsterites thought it might be fun to take the night off work and go to the Eastern State Penitentiary for their Haunted House. Talk about a disappointment. Not to mention NOT WORTH the money. Nevertheless we had a great time together - which is why I love my red lobsterites!

There’s the crew:

Amy, me (african queen), Dan, Labre, Alison (chocolate), Vern, and Sharron (hot lips)

Well, the pictures are fairly dreadful seeing as I’m not a photographer (least ways not in tricky light scenarios), but the fun of the afternoon and the delicious fruit at the end was too good to pass up on sharing. So here’s my autumn leaves blowing in the wind pumpkin creation!

And a brilliant autumn afternoon was had by all…(I wish you could see Rebecca up next to her pumpkin head but for some reason the photo refuses to upload.  Figures…

Well…I have fallen behind Lots of things happened since November that got backed up in the camera and journal…so I figured I’d just spit them all out now since they’re fun to remember. For Halloween our community group from church had a harvest festival. Brilliant idea. All the kids got dressed up (and I couldn’t resist resurrecting my chimney sweep outfit for the occasion). There was a whole group scavenger hunt in the backyard under cover of darkness (goodies at each new location the kids had to find), the reading of a terrific story book by Daisy, and plenty of yummy treats and warm drinks afterwards (necessary for my unthawing process since it was FREEZING OUTSIDE!!)

I’ve been thinking about Thanksgiving. This year it’ll be my mum, myself, my brother, and possibly his girlfriend. Shockingly sparse compared to traditional family gatherings of grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and random friends. Not that we have that perfect family with the Leave It To Beaver holiday celebrations, but this year will be quite different. Dad’s in Romania and mum’s had to wait all this time for her citizenship to go through apart from him. The extended family has weathered a fair bit of change…the passing of my aunt and two grandparents, the move of my grandfather to Indiana, the cousins not coming to Philly this year, and us unable to go to them…

I love having people over. Community, hearty conversation, enjoying good food, sharing time, laughing painfully through all the stuffing in your gut over recent anecdotes and dad’s corny jokes, beaching ourselves on the couch, reclining on each other, just glad to be together, glad to have a warm house with succulent smells wafting room to room, glad to have a reason to connect, to reflect collectively, constructively, God-wardly.

Rather than have a meager little gathering of our own, I was thinking how I’d so very much like to pray that God will bring people to the fore that don’t have other plans, that need family and fellowship, that we can absorb into the house this year. More people than usual. The ones that God would choose, knowing that it would be good to throw them together, that it would be redemptive, a blessing. He certainly knows how many people I know through work and church and working at the single mother’s home, that would fall into the category of not having family, or being estranged from family, or geographically distanced at the very least. So I posed the idea to my mum today. She totally agreed, followed by a sliver of hesitation. One that I’ve given a lot of thought to in regards to culture and society over the years. One that God’s been blasting to pieces in me as I’ve crossed borders more deeply…whether they be geographical, economic, cultural, racial, etc.

Who do you consider “other”? Who doesn’t fall neatly into your normal world of friends? People who live across town in the projects? People who live uptown in the ritzy houses? People who frequent the bar most nights? The ones who only come to church once a year? The neighbor who refuses to acknowledge your existence? The family member whose offenses you cannot forgive, let alone forget? Is it that needy person that’s always asking for more, sucking you dry as tumbleweed rolling about in the Dust Bowl? Or is it that glitzy self-confident figure that was born in the spotlight without a visible blemish that you’d feel like a withered slug next to? Is it that stingy person that has so much and never shares a bit? Is it the one who rammed your car in the parking lot and neglected to leave a name and phone number? Is it the person with the messed up family? Or the social awkwardness? Or the mental health issue? Or the dirty clothes? Or the foul mouth? Or the grossly inappropriate bold and opinionated penchant for hearing the sound of their own voice, no matter the company or appropriate context?

The question becomes, if we left the fishing pool open to ‘whomever,’ then what? Would everyone feel comfortable here? Would we feel comfortable with everyone that might come? Would it be hard for people that have less than us to come into our house? Would they compare their condition in life to our own and feel unworthy or jealous? Would we make them feel uncomfortable? Would it be wise to welcome the less trustworthy into our ’safe’ space? What if they don’t all have things in common? What if their toddler smears cranberry sauce on the dining chair cushions? What, heaven forbid, do we do if we get to know these people more and feel obligated to them in some way? What if by hearing their details we enter their lives and can no longer single-mindedly cater to only our own? What if the mess of their lives spills over into ours? And what if it happens at the Thanksgiving table? And makes people feel awkward? Or ruins the spirit entirely?

Mess. Another word for sin, brokeness, confusion, alienation, and everything wrong with the world. What do you do with it? Usually we keep our lives tidy. We are wise and understand that we have to learn to say ‘no.’ We know we should protect our homes and families. After all, there are some serious psychos out there. If you’re going to love and help people, then you have to learn the distinction between work and home. You have to protect your free time because you’re no help to anyone if you burn out. And besides, you’ve got enough of your own mess for ten people as it is…

All sound conventional wisdom…but there’s just something wrong with it. Here I am, a member of a different kingdom, about different things, smack in the middle of a world of mess. My own and everyone else’s. I’m told to imitate Christ. And there’s the real pill to swallow. Christ left heaven to come here of all places - to walk straight up to prostitutes and probe into their lives, to hit up the local bar with the proverbial ‘crud’ of society, to chit chat with the lousy politicians and loan sharks of the day. And it wasn’t some one-time visit to the local soup kitchen to smile and ladle and smile and ladle and then peace out.

     “PROLOGUE: 1815, DIGNE

Jean Valjean, released on parole after 19 years on the chain gang, finds that the yellow ticket-of-leave he must, by law, display condemns him to be an outcast. Only the saintly Bishop of Digne treats him kindly and Valjean, embittered by years of hardship, repays him by stealing some silver. Valjean is caught and brought back by police, and is astonished when the Bishop lies to the police to save him, also giving him two precious candlesticks. Valjean decides to start his life anew.”

-An excerpt from the opening of the synopsis of Les Miserables. Check out http://musicals.net/cgi-bin/synopsis?sn=48&show=Les+Miserables if you’re interested in the whole thing.

The problem with protection is that if you protect yourself from all the mess, you also protect yourself from all the ‘glory.’ (Thanks SooSang) If you guard against the mess, you make mercy impossible. And mercy is the heart of the gospel. Mercy is that thing that shows you something ‘entirely other’ than the crud that’s at work in the world. Mercy is risky, and it means some DEFINITE form of personal loss. Mercy means even though you lied to me, and I know you know I know, I’m going to forgive you and choose to continue to love you. Mercy means even though you flung my ‘fine china’ out on the line for everyone to see, I’m not going to fling you out of the fold of my friendship, or slander you to all our friends, but I’m going to go talk to you and love you and try to sort things out. Mercy means when you betray me, and my heart feels torn out of my body, I will still stand beside you when your life falls apart. Mercy means when you speak impatiently and insensitively, I will choose to listen to you because I care.

Mercy isn’t overlooking the wrong. It’s not casting it aside as though it never left a bruise, or dent or mortal wound. Mercy is swallowing someone’s debt whole. Fielding the death blow. Letting the consequences rain down on your head. Not in some masochistic manner. Not because it’s the ‘right’ thing to do. Not because you’re a pushover or a wimp or coward or don’t know how to defend yourself. And not because it’s your obligation or duty before God. Mercy is that thing that flows out of you when you’ve been smacked in the face by your sin, consumed by it, beyond the point of any return or hope of fixing things on your own, when you know you’ve wronged someone so wholly and intentionally…and instead of the natural and just hatred, punishment and consequences you deserve…there stands a man lying to the police about your culpability while you have his silver and candlesticks slung over your shoulder. Why? When you’re sentenced to 10 years in prison, suddenly you’re let free because someone decided to sit behind bars on your behalf. How? When someone trusted you to watch their child and you forgot about him in the store, and he went missing, or was never found. And this person wanted you at Christmas dinner. Not as some sick joke or guilt trip. But because they cared about you. Is this possible? Is it wildly foolish naivete or idealism? Is it sheer insanity?

There’s a lot more to this. More to let my mind steep in for a while. But at the very least, after a few words over tea, mum and I know that perhaps the risk and hesitation is worth it if it means we can love people in a way that makes a difference. In a way that shows them they’re more important than our ’stuff,’ or our comfort, or our status, or our time, or even our emotional space. In a way that shows them what Jesus is about, and what He makes possible. Maybe the potential ‘loss’ or discomfort doesn’t come close to the potential gain. And maybe cracking the door just a peek will bring us that much closer to the grand vista of reality. And if you’ve tasted this, even in its smallest or faintest measurement, how can you not want someone else to see it? How can your gratitude not spill over in the desire to share it? How can you be caught by such a vision and not hope against all hope that someone else might catch an inkling of it as well? So this is love…or yet another drop of that never-ending pool of it. Hmmm.

A couple weeks ago, some lovely friends came to visit while in the States on home assignment from their regular lives in Uganda. (We met this summer, Annelise was my prayer partner, and in two months of “knowing,” in some respects I feel like I know them better or closer than people I’ve known at home for years…I suppose that’s what third world missions does somewhat naturally.) Anyhow, two of them are kids (4 and 7) - each dear, curious, giggling, warm hearted little darlings that, when asked where they’d like to sleep, unanimously decided that the floor in my bedroom was their top choice . I, naturally, was delighted. Unless you’re fortunate enough to have that brilliant best friend or roommate (or spouse), who really wants to be with you, in your company like that, or even have the boldness to assume they could, but kids?

The short week-end was spent in various adventures, a trip to my home away from home, Red Lobster, rompings on my little bed with stuffed animals, coloring at the kitchen table, making silly videos under the front stoop since it was raining, eating chili dinner on the deck and afterwards coming up with things in the yard for them to seek and find…and it was wonderful.

Kids will look at you full in the face with unabashedly inquisitive eyes. They ask questions as though any question were fair game. They pick up things in your room and ask you what they are and where they came from and why you have them. When you’re sad or angry, they feel it and ask what’s wrong. They think nothing of hopping up on the bed with you, or of grabbing a lock of your hair and pretending they’re hairdressers cutting it with a bookmark serving as pretend scissors. Kids will sling their arms around your leg, or give you a hug, or jump into your lap for cuddles or come and tickle you. Kids make friends far faster than any adults I know. And fabulously, kids don’t think one hoot about themselves or how they’re perceived. They’ll sing or whine or laugh or nag and everything they are in its entirety is free to parade before your eyes.

Contrast that to us “wisened” and “temperate” adults. We approach each other with pretense, or hesitation, perhaps nervousness. Most of us feel a proprietary sense of personal space. We feel the need to appear together, organized, competent. Most of us sense when we’ve talked too much, or are careful to make sure we don’t belch in proper company. We know which friends we can let down our hair with, and which friends we talk about the weather and the lawn with. We don’t barge ahead into someone’s thoughts, or belongings, or life. And if we’re honest, plenty of the time we don’t actually ask them things we wonder about, or pry about what is or isn’t going on in their lives. We worry what they think of us. We worry how our actions or words will be perceived. Or we flat out don’t give a rip about them or what they think. After all, it’s their life. Not our business. So we talk in vast vagueties and generalities, lest the real crud of our lives leak out and give us a bad name.

Of course, that’s not all bad. I’d hope we showed some temperance of word or action for the benefit of our neighbor, some sensitivity to their sensibilities, needs, strengths and weaknesses. Some respect of their person, understanding when is a good time to inquire, and when someone just needs to be alone. But we are made to know and be known. And we can’t grow apart from it. We’re meant to be one in spirit. Made to rejoice when others rejoice, and cry with them when they cry. We’re meant to know each other well enough so as to be able to speak into each other’s lives…whether it be a word of encouragement, or a jarring one that speaks harsh but sweet sense in the face of folly. How well do we live this? How much do we hide to keep safe and secure? To die a slow and suffocating death? How much do we risk to put it all out there? Or tell it like it is when we know the news won’t be embraced with open arms? How much do we really know about each other? How much do we care? How much do we pray? How much do we haul arm in arm because we’re in this together, not as some valiant lone ranger?

We’re reading Ministries of Mercy by Tim Keller in our community group at the moment. I was so struck by a passage in this week’s chapter about imitating the incarnation - what it means to be like Christ.

“B.B. Warfield, in a sermon on Philippians 2 entitled “Imitating the Incarnation.” explains very clearly what it means to follow Christ’s example:

He was led by His love for others into the world, to forget himself in the needs of others…Self-sacrifice means not indifference to our times and our fellows: it means absorption in them. It means forgetfulness of self in others. It means entering into every man’s hopes and fears, longings and despairs: it means many sidedness of spirit, multiform activity, multiplicity of sympathies. It means richness of development. It means not that we should live one life, but a thousand lives - binding ourselves to a thousand souls by the filaments of so loving a sympathy that their lives become ours.”

How lovely for the example of two children to fill out a bit more of what it means to know and be known. To reach out because you want to connect, not thinking of how you might be viewed or accepted, or even rejected. To give smiles and hugs and kisses freely because they are beautiful and that’s what love is. To have ALL your baggage hanging out and not be afraid of or necessarily repulsed by other’s baggage. To take the world as it is and ask questions. To look for answers because you know you don’t know it all. To be open to correction. To delight in and engage everything the world has to offer without being prejudiced against color, status, wealth, or condition. To know that while a parent might spank you, you can trust him implicitly, and know he loves you no matter what. I’d like to be more like a kid.

Here it is.  The two things you can’t eat for breakfast are…drumroll…lunch or dinner.  heh heh heh…

The time has come. I never imagined the shift would be so swift and complete, considering I could not allow myself to let go of the summer this year. Considering my fingers would not be pried away from the all-absorbing warmth of the sun, from scampering about in cotton and flip flops, from greeting the morning sun in the park through the luscious green leaves, glittering off the bouncing creek and countless shards of micah on the stony beach.

But, as it always does, sometime in autumn, when the air turns chill and I start sleeping with more blankets and fuzzy socks, when my hot water bottle drinks in its first roasting brew…when I pull out my fleecy pants and thermal shirt and bury myself in the delicious haven of my bed at the end of a long day. I drink the long draft of hibernation to its dregs and am intoxicated. It would serve me better were I a bear. But being myself, it may become a hazard to be so wholly taken in that I can barely be coaxed from my den and my slumbering eyes let loose from the dreams that have silently bewitched them…

What two things can never be eaten for breakfast?

So an enormous barge went up and down the Nile River.  In its hold were hundreds of slaves shackled to the oars that kept it on its way.  One day the commander of the boat came down to the emaciated, light deprived slaves to convey a bit of good news and a bit of bad.  “The good news, gentlemen,” said he, “is that the Queen is coming to visit our vessel today.”  In response, hundreds of whoops and cheers and furious clanging of the shackles.  “I’m sorry to say, however…..the bad news……is that she’d like to go water skiing.”

Ok, so one would think, seeing that it is now October, that autumn would be crisp in the air. However, the air is hot and hanging like a wet rag…nevertheless, Mum, Rebecca and I went to the apple orchard to stock up on scrumdiddlyumptious apples for eating and baking and apple saucing and more. Check out the awesome shots compliments of Rebecca!

My auntie Helen and uncle Brian hosted our first ever “official” family reunion at their place in Huntsville Ontario this summer. I was sick as a dog. But their couch was divinely nap-worthy. All coughing and nose blowing aside, it was gorgeous out. THANKS!

Making goodies - Auntie Helen, Aunt Lydia, Mumsie, me, and Sarah

Cousins and Co. eating said goodies; Jon and Brad; Lovely Sarah and I

Frolicking out of doors…

Sarah and I

Jon, Sarah and Zena…

Two mums; Sharon and I; Uncle Danny and Aunt Jackie

The prize winning shot - Uncle Brian and Aunt Helen

Beautiful…what else can one say?

Today I read Jennifer Myhre’s blog of August 13th 2007 at http://paradoxuganda.blogspot.com/ It’s well worth your couple minutes to give it a read.

Three weeks home and the picture she painted of how life goes on there seems a million miles away. I’ve been reminded lately, in a more potent way, that there is a lot of suffering going on in the world. Away from my relatively safe and clean America. Away from my solid home, my steady income, my present friends and family. Famine emaciates people and animals in Kenya because they haven’t had rain since November (http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/4598172.stm). Devastating floods wipe out all food supply and the possibility of trucking food in to isolated villages in Bangladesh leaving a woman to live on a strip of tin for days and threatening the spread of water-borne disease (http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/south_asia/6939150.stm). Thousands of people sit in IDP or refugee camps in Sudan and neighboring Chad, having had their villages burned, having watched family and friends killed and raped (http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/3496731.stm).

It all seems overwhelming. What can I do here? The scale of suffering is so enormous, where does one even start and how? Lately, I’ve been convicted to actually spend some of my time looking and listening, instead of cruising past the headlines as though they had nothing to do with me. Absorbing some of what it might feel like were I in a different set of shoes. Spending time praying for people I don’t know, and things that are too colossal and confusing for me to know how to think about. Praying that God would help me care. And that He’d move me from prayer to more tangible contributions, in the way I live, or where I spend my money, or what actions I take. I’ve been spending a bit of time in Tim Keller’s book Ministries of Mercy. He sent me to Proverbs 14:31 “He who oppresses the poor shows contempt for their Maker, but whoever is kind to the needy honors God,” and 19:17 “He who is kind to the poor lends to the LORD, and he will reward him for what he has done,” and most poignantly, Matthew 25:31-46 where Jesus, on Judgment Day, distinguishes between those with true faith by their actions towards those in poverty, sickness, etc. “…I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me…”

“The striking truth is that the work of mercy is fundamental to being a Christian.” “…Evangelical Christians today are by no means against helping the needy and hurting. Yet, “social relief work” is generally looked at as a secondary duty. It is something we get to if there is time and money in the budget, after we are satisfied with our educational and evangelistic ministries.” Tim Keller

It’s not about being a philanthropist. It’s not about being cool because you went to some country and helped those “poor, skinny children.” It is about a fundamental shift in my view of the world, my view of people, and my view of purpose that flows out of a living relationship with God. It is about the fact that I and my immediate environment is not all that’s important. I am not an “I” but a “we.” I can only scratch the surface of it, but I’m trusting He’ll be teaching me to walk the road. To become a regular traveler.

James 2:13-17 “Judgment without mercy will be shown to anyone who has not been merciful. Mercy triumphs over judgment! What good is it, my brothers, if a man claims to have faith but has no deeds? Can such faith save him? Suppose a brother or sister is without clothes and daily food. If one of you says to him, “Go, I wish you well; keep warm and well fed,” but does nothing about his physical needs, what good is it? In the same way, faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead.”

One week and six days and I’ll be home!!!! I’ve loved it here, don’t get me wrong, but I’m so excited to be back, and to see my mum when I arrive!

Recent Highlights

Scorpions found and killed = 1

Huge all day celebration held for the opening of a brand new maternity and pediatric ward at Nyahuka Health Center where I’ve been helping with the nutrition program. The US ambassador to Uganda flew in by MAF flight onto our grass airstrip for the occasion, and there was a full group of ugandans in tribal gear singing, drumming and dancing for him. Besides listening to more speeches than I ever hope to have to sit through again in the near future, it was a blast, and the feast at the end was brilliant.

Last night we celebrated Tim’s birthday (one of my fellow interns). Our gift to him was a hilarious leather belt we found in the market that had scorpions burned into it. Goes swell with the swank leather sandals he bought at the market when we first arrived!

Oh, and just for the record, I’m planning on putting picture on here when I return to the US to go along with everything that I’ve written, so you’ll be able to scroll back and have photos with explanations together. So sorry I wasn’t able to give glimpses from this end…alas

Prayer Request: The nutrition program that I have been helping out with has officially run out of funding. The World Food Program used to help, but they pulled out a while ago, and now members of the team have been finding other ways to raise money, but it’s gone. Please pray about this need and forward it on to friends who might be interested in helping out. For more info, just let me know.

Well, I’m sure more has happened, but I’ve got 3 minutes of internet time left, and my brain isn’t having any grand recollections. Thanks a million for your prayers and support!

July 2nd 2007 Nyahuka

The sun is shining something fierce. Woo hoo. That means dry laundry minus that tasty mildew smell. After one ridiculous thing after another that seems to happen here in Uganda on a daily basis, Andrea and I have developed “Only in Africa…” - the running humorous commentary on things that transpire only here. The other day it was: only in Africa does your towel smell worse AFTER you wash it than before (due to aforementioned effect of cloud cover on drying factor of laundry). I was sitting in my room reading this morning, glanced down at the pair of shoes that I wore when we arrived and haven’t touched since…there’s a delightful little white mold growing in spots and patches in the beds of both. Fun times.

Much has gone on since last I wrote.

Riots at School

For several nights, teachers and their residences here at Christ’s School (where we live) were being stoned among other things. Students were in an uproar about the conditions here and during a day of cancelled classes, joint administration and student meetings, they threatened bloodshed if their demands weren’t met. Apparently rioting isn’t all that uncommon in schools here. The Nyahuka police (four guys and a couple guns) were gotten and a decision to close the school temporarily was relayed in an assembly. Students were given half an hour to get a few things and go home. In the meantime, the three of us were told to throw some stuff into a backpack and clear out to the mission just in case the scenario turned sinister. So we raced through the house, latched all our shutters, and were off. Curious feeling for me – the second time I’ve been at a boarding school in Africa contemplating evacuation?!* What are the odds? Thanks to the Lord all went peacefully. A week the later students were heralded back to the school class by class on different days, along with their parents to discuss and sign a code of conduct regarding such issues. I think some of the ringleaders are also facing expulsion. It’s a real opportunity for the school to set a precedent and hopefully model some badly needed lessons on conflict resolution. People here really have no concept of democracy, or even talking something over. Since the person or people with the most power win, violence becomes the logical option and mob mentality takes over. We were all praying that the folly of the whole scenario would be shown for what it was although it wasn’t clear how things would go over. Many parents share the same mentality as students as they are uneducated, or unfamiliar with more democratic ideas, and don’t necessarily have the Lord shaping their view of dealing with people, or molding their notion of rights, privileges, good authority, and the value of discipline.

Scaling the Rwenzori Mountains

Two Saturdays ago a large portion of the team here in Nyahuka (joined by three interns and two missionaries from Fort Portal) embarked on quite the adventure across the Rwenzori Mountains to Fort Portal (east of Bundibugyo district). In the words of Michael Masso (water engineer) “it’s not a trek for the faint of heart.” For days we had had plenty of rain, which would make the scant trails perilously slippery. There were stretches of steep inclines. Thighs would ache, only the younger and fitter were advised to chance the trip. Okay, so I’m talking it up a bit, but really, it was some serious climbing. And had the rains persisted, it really would have been out of control. I think in the long run, the faster of the two groups made the trip in about 8 hours (one consisting of our combined breaks). We’d climbed about 9000 meters to the highest and down another 5000 or so. Not sure how many miles it was but it was INCREDIBLE. I’ve never scaled mountains like that before so it was unbelievable to think (when I was at the top) that I’d actually WALKED that far and high. The scenery was extraordinary! We went from tropical vegetation to a cooler rainforest type area, through a bamboo forest, and back into tropical vegetation on the other side. Only in Africa does a grandmother hefting a load of firewood pass you at a clip going up the mountain…

Fort Portal

The hike was the beginning of about a week away from Nyahuka. We spent two days in Fort Portal at a place called Nyakasura House doing the abbreviated version of the “sonship course” (a program that World Harvest came up with for its missionaries to learn how to live their lives out of the truth that they are children of God). It was brilliant, if not a tad overloading as we packed an enormous amount of material into a short amount of time and it really takes a chunk of mental and emotional space to process. Bonus: first hot shower in Uganda. The next evening we traveled to the home of the Fort Portal interns and stayed with them, getting a tour of the area and seeing Hope School where they were teaching. It’s amazing how different it is just over the mountains. Fort Portal is noticeably more westernized and civilized in general (civilized meaning more built up, more amenities, better transportation, paved roads even…) The people there are of the Toro tribe and relationships look a lot different. When we met one of Lindsay’s fellow teachers Innocent, he grabbed my hand delightedly and we proceeded to walk through the school hand in hand! Okee dokee. Here in Bundibugyo that would be scandalous. People would assume you’re sleeping together! One side note – people in this neck of the woods have nicknames called impakos. I think there are 12 in all. People will look at you and determine which one you are. While we were there, the unanimous vote for me was “Akiki” which means motherly! I wasn’t expecting that. What do you think?

Hello Equator!!

Mweya – Lions and tigers and bears, oh my!

At the crack of dawn the next morning fifteen of us packed into a Land Rover and Van and headed off to Queen Elizabeth National Park and Mweya Safari Lodge. The terrain quickly morphed from green tropical to relatively dry savannah. There were these wild cactus type trees all over the place…very cool. When we arrived, I wasn’t quite sure what to do with myself. It was a gorgeous hotel…spiffed out in every way. After a month in Bundibugyo, how do you make the shift? Which only makes me wonder what it’ll be like going back to the States in a few weeks.

A few of us went exploring while waiting for our rooms. There were wild wart hogs all over the place. They’re hilarious! When they eat, they get down on their front knees to do it, and when they trot, their long skinny tails stick straight up in the air with a little poof of hair at the end. Their bottoms are the perkiest things ever! After unpacking, eating a lunch like I hadn’t eaten in a month, AND MY FIRST PHONE CALL FROM MUM AND DAD, we went on this boat ride down in the channel that the lodge overlooked. We wound our way down the shoreline and I gaped wide-eyed at hippos, cape buffalo, water buck, kob, a gazillion types of unbelievable birds and plenty more. I’ve never seen any of that stuff in its natural habitat, at such close proximity. It was totally surreal. Magnificent really. We passed a fishing village just when all the hollowed out canoes were fanning out across the channel for the evening. A massive flock of white birds soared into the air across the paling sky through sun beams glistening off the water. I thought I must be in some dream. We went on several game drives. Perched on the top rack of a vehicle in the morning as the fog is lifting and the sun rising behind a herd of elephants is just about as good as it gets in my opinion. One morning we passed a gallant lion strolling about next to our car, barely glancing over at us. I doubt he could have been more than 10 yards off from the car. The elephants were my favorite, especially the babies…they’re just so big and graceful and gentle looking, munching on shrubbery and ambling along. Several even trumpeted for us (not a good sign, but we got out of there quick enough when they were annoyed). We saw baboons, antelope, monkeys, loads more wart hogs (their babies are totally cute as well), a lioness lounging on a rock, and all the other animals we’d seen by the water. Being there brought back a million memories of being a child and traveling the world over with my family. I wished my dad had been there to share it, I know he would have loved the animals. It was kind of bittersweet thinking that yesterday is gone, and my family is separated all over the place, Jon in NYC, my parents in Romania, and losing several grandparents and my aunt recently, while I’m still finding my place in the world. Maybe we never really do find our place here, but I sure felt at home as a kid. A good but hard reminder that I’m just passing through and this isn’t my permanent home.

Most animal photos complements of Josh Dickenson (kind lender of photos when my camera memory was full!)

July 4th 2007

Back to Bundibugyo

After two days of delighting in the sights, sounds, smells, and tastes of Mweya, we crammed back into our vehicles, stopped briefly in Fort Portal to restock on the essentials that are impossible to get in Nyahuka (ie. Nutella chocolate spread, cookies, and Pringles), and were off back over the mountains to our home in the valley beyond. The only way to describe the trip is five hours of bone jarring ricocheting off the rocky dirt roads in a tin can, with a 75 degree decline directly beyond my edge of the vehicle with several thousand feet worth of plummeting fall to the bottom. It made for a view of the terraced mountainsides that was one of a kind. As we drove back down our side of the mountains through the forest at the top we passed trees full of black and white colobus monkeys that eyed us curiously. When we finally got back I was coated with a thick layer of sweat, sunscreen, and road dust and had to sit still at our kitchen table so that every particle in my body that had been jiggled out of position could resettle. Let’s just say Dramamine saved the day…

I love these majestic mountains that remind me every moment that there are things bigger than myself in life. That there is a colossal and creative God that is sovereign over all the curious things under the sun that make no sense to me. That there is One who searches and knows me, down to every detail…and weaves things together into meaning and purpose in a world where sometimes its so tempting for me to believe that there is none. I was reading the other day – Psalm 113 – and was happy to be once again reminded that God is huge, but God is also near and knowable.

“The LORD is high above all nations, and his glory above the heavens! Who is like the LORD our God, who is seated on high, who looks far down on the heavens and the earth? He raises the poor from the dust and lifts the needy from the ash heap, to make them sit with princes, with the princes of his people. He gives the barren woman a home, making her the joyous mother of children. Praise the LORD!”

‘Home’ Again

That night we slept like we might not have slept since we arrived. It felt good to be back in our little apartment, even familiar! We were thrilled to bathe under our cold, gravity fed shower, happy to find our “omo” washed clothes, happy to tumble into beds we have come to trust and know in our mosquito nets. I think it’s kind of like people and bathrooms. You always prefer using your own toilet than someone else’s or some random public bathroom. Because you know your toilet. You know what to expect. You know who’s bound to interrupt you on it, you know who else has been on it before you, it’s familiar, safe. But a public toilet might be dirty, it might smell funny, you might not realize the seat is broken before you sit on it (that is if you even dare to), etc. But to think that this house and place that was so uncomfortable and unfamiliar to us a month ago, now feels like home – that is totally exciting! The next morning we woke up deliciously well rested. Andrea and I went off to the market to get some fruits and veggies. I was happy to greet a smiling Rose (one of our usual veggie stops) who actually knew me. I UNDERSTOOD the women when they told me how much the things I wanted cost!!! I could navigate my way round the market, knowing where I might find mangoes, or plantains, or passion fruit. I also ran into a pastor friend Daniel, and was able to greet him and have a conversation. On our way back we bumped into “Monday,” otherwise known as the Ugandan “Jack Sparrow.” He’s the jolly eccentric fellow that’s quite smart, but suffers from what we think must be bipolar tendencies. He always stops to greet us in English with a smile from ear to ear. He’s got all sorts of colored fabrics and ribbons wrapped round his head and usually carries a ponga (big machete like thing) or a spear that has all sorts of ribbons and assorted streamers “just just” (meaning just for show, not to use for any particular thing). Both of us came back feeling thoroughly accomplished and affirmed thinking “oh my goodness, I could totally live here!?*

So What Do I Think?

It’s hard to know how to think about the incredible disparity between this place and Philadelphia. I come from a totally educated background. Here most people are lucky to read and write, let alone finish school or do well enough to amount to anything (according to our Western notions). In the States I have money, house, car, food…here people live in mud huts, have some plates and bowls, a handful of pieces of ragged clothing, a foam mat, some kitengis (rectangular cuts of fabric about the size of the face of a single bed), and what else? When we were in Mweya at the safari lodge I wondered what the Ugandan waiters and bell boys and pool attendants think when they serve these “rich” white people who come and require such luxuries and pampering, who want hot water in their rooms, a pool to swim in, and omelletes to order at the breakfast buffet? Certainly I am providing them with much needed employment…but how could one ever understand or reconcile how we live as we do in the United States when the majority of this continent has so little?

What does it mean that people here live in mud huts that have rats and cockroaches? What does it mean that the substance of most people’s lives here in Bundibugyo consist of growing food, preparing it, hauling water and firewood, washing clothing, and sleeping and eating? What does it mean that babies sit in the mud of their front stoop batting around in the dust and goat droppings and bits of trash that they find there? What does it mean that a man who lost his wife two days ago brings an infant to the nutrition center yesterday, a baby so small and sickly that it looked like a scrawny, bony chicken with a thin veil of flesh stretched across its folded body, wailing as he awkwardly tried to fill its mother’s place in consoling it? What have we in common, if anything? How do we connect? Even comparing the child growth standards here with those in the West presents me with a problem. The above average growth curve here in Uganda is the minimum growth curve for weight in the States. Our very presence here shows the Ugandans what they don’t have. What does it mean that we should come and start a secondary school for Ugandan students but bring teachers here from the United States to educate our primary school children in our own mission school instead of sending them to one of the local primary schools? What does it mean that our children have meat for dinner, while local kids run about with distended stomachs from malnutrition? What does it mean that when a missionary raises money arduously for him and his family to come here as a water engineer, giving up basic amenities and standard of living, family, education, etc., in order to pipe clean water from the falls for the district, that the locals think he’s being paid to do this and is stealing jobs and income from nationals, and even worse, that he is making a profit off of this land and this country? What does it mean when a child comes to your door asking for bread or water when you know that they have somewhere to get water and probably aren’t starving, but obviously don’t have apples from Fort Portal or dinosaur shaped multivitamins, or a parent who is investing time and effort into his early childhood development? What does it mean when students at the school riot for more meat in their diet, or more opportunities to see the nurse, or more electricity so that they can have lights that last the duration of their evening prep period, or to even have lights in their dormitories?

And then, the major question: What is my responsibility here? What is my responsibility having been born in a country that has wealth and money, into a family that is loving, into a cultural context where education is valued and available? Could I go back to my safe and comfortable America and live the way we live because that’s just the way things are? And if not, then how am I supposed to live? And will the way I choose to live make a difference? And does it matter if a difference is made so long as I live the way I think I should? O LORD, have mercy, give wisdom.

July 4th 2007

Independence Day

Only in Africa….did Andrea and I whistle our national anthem to a class full of S2 students
(roughly 10th grade equivalent).

As always, we make the most of every celebration here in Uganda. Tonight the team congregated at the Myhre’s (team leaders) to commemorate freedom. The kids all got those glow in the dark sticks that you can loop into bracelets that you sometimes get at ball games or concerts (thanks to some thoughtful soul who sent a package for just such an occasion.) Bruce Springstein was projected through their rigged up, solar powered sound system. Everyone on the team brought over offerings: prized jars and containers of sundae toppings saved up for the perfect moment. We belted the national anthem out at the top of our lungs. And complements of DMC (the Myhre’s cow, Dairy Milk Chocolate) we had home made ice cream!!! Lest you underestimate what a treat this is, let me just explain that the closest thing you can get to ice cream/goodies in Nyahuka is sugar, long-life boxed milk, or fruit drop candies that are basically sugar, gelatin and some color (I’m guessing that’s why they warrant a ‘fruit’ designation). It was divine.

July 5th 2007

Love – ie. Love your neighbor as yourSELF

It occurred to me again several weeks ago that I don’t really care about other people. My whole life is tailored to meeting my needs and fulfilling my desires and purposes. It’s not like I wake up in the morning thinking about what anyone else should do, I think about what I’m going to do. I go to school so that I can be a learned person and get a decent job and earn enough to support myself and be comfortable and happy, to contribute to society and have achieved something in life. I work so that I have money for the things I need, to clothe myself, to feed myself, to enjoy myself. I determine what I should do with my time by how I feel and what I think is fitting. Do I want to sleep, do I want to watch TV, do I want to hang out with friends? When you get to the bottom of things, everything I do amounts to what I assess will be good for ME, or right for ME, or supportive for ME. I think: I’m responsible for me. And you’re responsible for you. The notion that I might be responsible for you (unless you’re my child, my aging parent, or part of my job description) is about as foreign as the soil I’m standing on. Love YOU the way I love MYSELF?!* What on earth?

Thankfully, a number of things have surfaced recently to give me pause to consider this.

1. In team prayer yesterday morning, Kim read a snippet from John Piper’s “What Jesus Demands From The World,” about the second commandment to love your neighbor as yourself:

“The second commandment seems to me to be an overwhelming commandment. It seems to demand that I tear the skin off my body and wrap it around another person so that I feel that I am that other person; and all the longings that I have for my own safety and health and success and happiness I now feel for that other person as though he were me. It is an absolutely staggering commandment. If this is what it means, then something unbelievably powerful and earthshaking and reconstructing and overturning and upending will have to happen in our souls. Something supernatural. Something well beyond what self-preserving, self-enhancing, self-exalting, self-esteeming, self-advancing, fallen human beings like me can do on their own.”

2. Tuesday night we celebrated Pamela’s birthday with cake, balloons, gifts, and a game of catch phrase. As we neared the end, we were trying to decide how much longer we’d play. My initial thought was one more round so that one team would win fair and square. Pamela, on the other hand, said she wanted one more round so that both teams could tie and end on the same foot. How odd, I thought. I was thinking about our team winning, and she was thinking about everyone winning.

3. In Bible study the other day we read a quote from J.I. Packer on the meaning of Jesus becoming a man and living here on earth:

“(The incarnation) meant a laying aside of glory; a voluntary restraint of power; an acceptance of hardship, isolation, ill-treatment, malice and misunderstanding; finally, a death…The “Christmas spirit”…should mean the reproducing in human lives of the temper of him who for our sakes became poor…(It) does not shine out in the…snob who leaves the sub-middle-class sections of the community to get on by themselves. The Christmas spirit is (rather) that of those who, like their Master, live their whole lives on the principle of making themselves poor – spending and being spent – to do good to others – and not just their own friends.”

Interesting.

4. All of this reminded me of Romans 5:6-8 and Luke 6:27,28,32-35

“For while we were still weak, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly. For one will scarcely die for a righteous person – though perhaps for a good person one would dare even to die – but God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.”

“But I say to you who hear, Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you…If you love those who love you, what benefit is that to you? For even sinners love those who love them. And if you do good to those who do good to you, what benefit is that to you? For even sinners do the same. And if you lend to those from whom you expect to receive, what credit is that to you? Even sinners lend to sinners, to get back the same amount. But love your enemies, and do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return, and your reward will be great, and you will be sons of the Most High, for He is kind to the ungrateful and the evil.”

It’s one thing to do things because you’re personally motivated to do them: because it benefits you in some way, whether directly as in buying a shirt because you like it and it fits you and you can wear it, or indirectly, like giving someone a gift because you know they’ll appreciate it and thank you and be happy and that will bring you personal satisfaction. It’s quite another thing to do something when it’s not going to benefit you in any way. Imagine working and not being compensated for the time and effort. Imagine spending your hard-earned buck to buy someone a gift that they didn’t seemed enthused about in the slightest, that they didn’t thank you for, and that they set aside to move onto something more interesting.

Okay, translate that from friends or family to acquaintances, or people you don’t know, or worse, people you dislike or who are all-out enemies? It’s one thing to spend time doing laundry for your family. What about doing laundry for the homeless person that sleeps around the corner from your apartment? Or putting quarters in the dryer to dry some random person’s laundry that’s sitting in the wash machine you want to use at the Laundromat? Or what about doing laundry for the jerk who cut you off in traffic, or the guy who swindled your elderly mother out of her life savings, or the doctor who refused your dying child healthcare because you didn’t have insurance? Do I love these people the way I love myself?!* Do I even bother to spend my mental or emotional energy considering them or the fact that they might need something, or that I might actually be responsible for contributing to their lives and growth?

For me it’s as simple as ‘do I care that my roommate isn’t feeling well today?’ Is it a passing thought, or do I stop to pray for her? Do I ask her what I can do for her? Do I think about how I might feel if I were her and what would make me feel better? Do I choose to spend time making her some chicken soup instead of reading my book or taking my nap after I convey my condolences to her with a “sorry” (however heart-felt it might have been)? Do I stop in to check on her later in the day when I’ve been distracted by other things I need or want to do? I’m so grateful to be in a place and time where I’m able to ask the questions, where my context and my said beliefs force me to. Please pray for me. The tricky thing about finding life is the dying part…

Matthew 10:39 “Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.”

July 8th 2007

Opposition

There are a million reasons why living in a place like this is difficult. Lack of modern conveniences and amenities, the cultural and linguistic barriers, being far from home, family, and the familiar, etc. One thing not always accounted for is the spiritual opposition that presents itself when you determine to share and spread the kingdom of God. For whatever reason, the reality of the spiritual realm never seems as obvious to me when I’m in the States. But in my experience overseas, that has not always been the case. Not long after we arrived, Andrea had a horrible nightmare, followed by an experience of a few things that can only be accounted for supernaturally. It freaked her out, and it freaked us out. Not long after that, Lydia also had a similar experience. And a couple nights ago, it was my turn for Satan to visit (as Andrea had said half serious and half in jest the next day.) It’s hard to describe the terror it inspires in the middle of the night, in the dark, perhaps when we are most vulnerable…tired and needing rest, in our bed that is supposed to be safe and comfortable. We pray together about these things, our lives, our work and our day every night before we go to sleep. Lest we forget about what we are really involved with, what we are really doing, and what is at stake, I think the Lord has been gracious to give each of us a small glimpse to keep us sharp, to drive us to pray, to propel us to root ourselves more strongly in His word, and to bolster our dependence upon and trust in Him. And though I’d rather not have to go through it, I’m glad that He is not content to have me deceived into apathy, lazy or fickle about my faith or the way I live my life. The great deception in life would be to think that it is nothing more than a stroll through 80 some years in a body, having random interactions with other bodies, and amounting to little else when all is said and done. The great deception is to live as if there is no God, as if He has no purpose or were not doing anything, as if there were nothing at stake, and as if our thoughts, words or actions didn’t mean anything, as if we could do whatever we wanted… “I just want to be happy…don’t bother me with something I have to think about, that rocks the boat, that might require something of me.” It reminds me of the film, the Matrix. Life isn’t what you think it is. Do you want to find out what it is, or would you rather carry on, ignore the signs, and live as if this was it? There really is a war on. Epic proportions. And things are dire. One look around at injustice, violence, poverty, suffering, broken relationships, etc. confirms it. But there is one who has conquered, who brings news of a new thing, who is doing a new thing here, now. He’s the One I want to stand with and fight for when I’m in my right mind. Pray we’d live in light of reality, both me and you.

Psalm 91is in the process of being memorized:

He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will abide in the shadow of the Almighty.
I will say to the LORD, “My refuge and my fortress, my God in whom I trust.”
For He will deliver you from the snare of the fowler and from the deadly pestilence.
He will cover you with his pinions, and under His wings you will find refuge;
His faithfulness is a shield and buckler.
You will not fear the terror of the night, nor the arrow that flies by day,
Nor the pestilence that stalks in darkness, nor the destruction that wastes at noonday.
A thousand may fall at your side, ten thousand at your right hand, but it will not come near you.
You will only look with your eyes and see the recompense of the wicked.
Because you have made the LORD your dwelling place – the Most High, who is my refuge – no evil shall be allowed to befall you, no plague come near your tent.
For He will command His angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways.
On their hands they will bear you up, lest you strike your foot against a stone.
You will tread on the lion and the adder,
the young lion and the serpent you will trample underfoot.
“Because he holds fast to me in love, I will deliver him; I will protect him because he knows my name. When he calls to me, I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble; I will rescue him and honor him and show him my salvation.”