We have been blessed. We have many people praying for us and encouraging us. Sometimes we wonder why us? We are just trying to live like anyone else should live, looking around to learn appropriate ways to act in society, trying to serve the local body of believers, trying to live honorably with our neighbors, trying to respect those around us as people created and loved by God as they are. We're not great evangelists, we still stumble over our words a lot and at times fail to express ourselves, sometimes we feel brave, sometimes we feel like fools, and most times we just feel normal.
Even though we feel normal, we do need people praying for us, and we do need encouragement to keep going, yet I can't help but admire those who are running this same race without any recognition, those who are faithful to their Leader day in and day out, those who invest in the lives of others, not living for themselves, without anyone ever noticing. The good works of some are clearly evident, preceding them to judgment, but those that are otherwise cannot be hidden. -1 Timothy 5.25 And let us not grow weary while doing good, for in due season we shall reap if we do not lose heart. -Galatians 6.9
0 Comments
Thoughts, so many thoughts, where do I start? Where do I go to clear my head? Habits are hard to start and hard to break, at least the good ones. The bad ones start easily enough but if the good ones gain momentum, they’ll soon come to crowd out the bad ones. So I try to clear my head with truth, yes, that is a good habit. Sometimes, the truth is hard to find, but I’ve found that that’s usually because I’m asking the wrong question. It’s similar to building a house. If I make a mistake following the blueprints, I might not catch it right away, but sooner or later, I’ll start to notice that things aren’t lining up in other areas of the project. Then I have to trace the error back to its source.
I have to get back to the source of things. There are some basic things in life that I have counted as true, and I am trying to grab onto those things like a drowning man tries to grab onto a life preserver. That I’m selfish and consistently judging myself against others, this I’m aware of. That God knows my every thought, yet poured out his grace on me, its as if I were standing beneath a bursting dam, the power of miles of pent up water unleashed over my selfishness, bringing my every thought captive to the obedience of Christ, this I’m also aware of. Yes, these are the basic things in life I’ve latched onto, my weakness and his grace. And this directly affects how I see now and eternity, an earthly country and a heavenly one, along with the love of a beautiful Savior and people and things and holding on and letting go, these are the things I have to have an idea about if I want to have a clear mind. I’m sitting on the cold tiles on the porch in front of our house. I see six pairs of muddy little feet stomping in the water flowing down the dirt path weaving its way between the houses, so many houses. I hear the kids playing and I know that some of them come from good families who love them and teach them about life and how it should be lived in this place, and I know that some of them don’t, and I know that one of them is mine. Their feet are all muddy and I can’t see the rest of them because the gate is in the way but I see their feet through the criss-crossed welds underneath the large rust colored piece of iron attached to the gate. I think of how precious these kids are to God and how tough they are and how some of them don’t like getting cold baths at night to get all the dirt off and of how all of them love to be listened to and talked to and told stories to and watched while they do headstands and kungfu. I know that these kids are much more precious to God than a new car or a new boat and that what these kids need most isn’t new toys but someone to listen to them and to pay attention to them and to be there for them and for them to know it. I know that God is this way and as I sit here on the cold tiles I think I am very blessed to be sitting here and that at this moment I would rather be solving their disputes and comforting someone hit by a rock than be just about anywhere else in the world. The thinking of this thought comes from one of those basic things that says people are more important than things, and the thought is clear now but not always. I get up from sitting there on the porch and walk to my neighbor’s house. I hear the wedding music but I know that the bride and the groom haven’t arrived yet. I know that but I hadn’t always known that and just that morning as I was sitting next to a wooden desk in the office visiting with a co-worker about some of the things God is teaching us my phone rang and it was Rachelle and she told me that the wedding was starting. I walked to the bus stop and got on the bus and as I was standing in the bus my phone rang again. Again it was Rachelle and she said she was at the wedding peeling onions but the bride and the groom were at the mosque or someplace and they wouldn’t be back until after 2. It is almost 2 now as I’m walking to my neighbors house and I walk past the house where the wedding is. I see some people sitting on a mat near the road and they greet me and I greet them and they ask if I’m coming to the wedding and I say I’m coming. Then I get to my neighbor’s house and I walk down inside and sit on their couch. I greet him and his wife and ask how their family is doing and they greet me and ask how my family is doing and then we talk some more. Then I ask him if he’ll help me fix the water line and he says okay. He gets up and goes and rummages around behind his couch and finds some straps of rubber cut from an inner tube. After he finds the rubber he grabs his machete and we go outside the house and he climbs a tree and his two little kids are really excited to see how he climbs the tree. Then he chops off a branch near the top and throws it down and hands me the machete and I trim the branch and his daughter brings the steel from a well worn shovel. We shove the branch into the steel of the shovel to use as a handle and we take it along with the strips of rubber to the place in front of our house where the water line leaks. We know the water line goes to our house because the Grandma next door says it does and she has lived here for a long time. We start to dig and then we find the leak and then we wrap it with the rubber but the pressure is very high and it springs another leak. We decide to try something else and he goes back to his house to search for a one inch diameter plastic pipe and I go to my house for some cardboard and matches. Soon we’re heating up the plastic pipe over a cardboard fire and we try to enlarge the ends but the plastic is too hard. Then I remember where some pipe is buried behind the house and we get the shovel and dig it out and then we heat it up and enlarge the ends and it works. Then we go back to the place of the leak and we cut the water line and water sprays everywhere before we kink the pipe to stop the flow. Now there is no water in our house and I know that the Grandma was right and that this water line does go to our house. Then we patch the water line with the pipe we expanded and the time is close to 4 and the kids are still muddy and they say that the bride and the groom haven’t come yet. My neighbor and I walk back to our porch and sit down and wait for Rachelle to come and bring us a soda. She comes and we drink our sodas and talk about hunting. Then I get the guitar and he jams and the kids come and bang on buckets and I’d show you how good it sounds but the charge in my phone dies and the video disappears. Then we hear the drums and we know the bride and the groom are coming and we quickly get a basin of water and wash our feet. We send one of the kids behind the house to the place where we dug up the old pipe and she gets two broken plastic chairs to bring to my neighbor. He saw the chairs when we were digging up the pipe and I gave them to him and the two chairs together make one good chair. He takes the chair with him and I lock up the house. I start heading towards the wedding wearing nice jeans and a colored shirt. I know it’s okay to wear to the wedding because when I was on the bus and Rachelle called to tell me the wedding would start after 2 it was 11 and I decided to go to greet some old neighbors. After we greeted each other and talked about the economy I walked back toward home and met some more friends on the way. We greeted each other they asked where I was going and I said to a wedding and they said okay. I then asked them what I should wear and they said its fine to wear jeans and a colored shirt. Now I’m at the house where the wedding is and I’m standing with some of the guys that I know from the times we’ve sat telling stories under the tree. We’re standing there watching the bus which brought the wedding party trying to turn around on a narrow dirt street in between the cement houses. After what must have been a 15 point turn the bus is turned around and the car carrying the bride and the groom arrives. The wedding party is now singing and dancing and escorting the car as it pulls up to the house. The groom gets out of the car wearing a tan colored kanzu and brown barkeshare. The bride follows him wearing a blue lace dress with her hair all done up, and the wedding party escorts them into the house. I follow them towards the house, passing by an unfinished block building. Leaning up against the building is a wooden ladder supporting a wire running above our heads to a loud speaker attached to the trunk of a palm tree with strips of rubber inner tube. The speaker blares music, prayers, and announcements as the festivities go in, mixing in Swahili and Arabic. Just past the unfinished building lies a courtyard, and across from it sits the house. The ground in the courtyard is covered with worn blue tarps, and a newer tarp is stretched out overhead, fastened at the corners with rope and supported in the center by a tall wooden pole. I walk up to the corner of the house and lean against the wall encircling this side of the courtyard. I’m standing there with a group of young guys and I look over and see Rachelle sitting with the ladies on the other side of the courtyard. In between us the children are gathering under the tarp, and everyone knows the food is coming. I’m happy that the food is coming because I haven’t eaten anything since I ate a bowl of beans along with a chapati at a small tin roofed café in the early morning. Someone comes out of the house with a pitcher of water and a 5 gallon bucket and people start to gather to wash their hands. I wash my hands and lean back up against the wall. Next someone else comes out with a tray full of plates of pilau. The guys gather around and everyone takes a plate. I watch as the others begin eating and I’m soon rolling the rice with my right hand and squeezing it into a ball in my fist. I eat the meat along with the rice and I see Micah sitting under the tarp with his friends, sharing a plate and hungrily shoveling his food down. I finish off my plate and look for the bucket of water to wash my hands in. Now that the food is eaten, most of the guys leave, and I’m still standing there. Now my host for the day arrives. I know he’s my host because Rachelle told me he would be there and that he could help explain to me the proceedings. I’ve often sat with him next to the vegetable stand close to our house and he is a respected man on our street. Now I’m standing next to him along the wall and we’re waiting for the bride and the groom to come out of the house. I’m surprised I’m not tired because I sweated a lot when I dug up the water line in the African sun and I’ve been awake now since 5 when I went to the office to pray and drink coffee with my co-workers. The bride and the groom finally come out of the house and sit on the couch on the porch and the music resumes. The youth beat the drums again and the sound reverberates under the tarp and mixes with the voices of the singers. The music loosens and people sway, madiras and kanzus swooshing back and forth, hands clapping then arms waving in the air, a splash of colors as the brightly colored madiras stand out against the blue backdrop of the tarp in contrast to the cement walls and the sand in the courtyard. Everyone is having a good time and I see Rachelle and she sees me and I remember last week when the little old guy who is the father of the groom came to our house and invited us to the wedding. I wasn’t home that day but Rachelle was and she told me about it and the next day I remember sitting in an opening of the unfinished building visiting with the groom to be about different odd jobs he or I had done. I also remember the first time I had visited with him, we were sitting next to each other at a funeral at the house of the man I’m now standing next to against the wall at the wedding. Everyone continues to sing and to dance and to have a nice time and people come and wave their gifts around in front of the bride and the groom. The man I’m standing next to who is my host goes up and gives his gift, then comes back and I ask him how to give something and he explains how its done and I go and stick something in the groom’s hand. Now my host is free to go and he says goodbye and I’m left standing there as the sun fades and I’m thinking of back home and of different cultures and beautiful they are. I think of everything I’ve given up and everything I’ve gained and how everything I want to do is holding fast to Truth because he’s worth it all. The bride and the groom get in the car, the music stops, and I walk home, making habits in my mind, praying for those I’ve shared life with. That truth would prevail, that the beautiful things in a culture be set free, that God get glory. It seemed like a good plan at the time. I would grab the towel off of the nail on the door, I would then proceed to the bathroom to take a nice cold shower, and then I would use the towel to dry myself off before crawling into my nice soft bed for the night. Looking back now, I am amazed just how foolish I was in forgetting all of the finer elements of culture I’ve learned so far.
The first thing I forgot was how the spider bite on my foot (that’s what I was hoping it was) would try to distract me. Now I should have know that it would try, as just earlier that day as I was sitting on the front porch, the neighbor kids noticed it and started telling me in great detail of all the things that it could be. “Ah, I had something that looked just like that between my toes”, said an 8 year old girl, “and it was a worm, or a snail or something, and then it had millions of tiny babies, and then they started crawling all the way up my leg!” “How did you get rid of them?” I hesitantly replied. “My Gramma used a knife, some fire, and some limes.” The girl said, and at this her younger brother joined in, “And we were screaming!” “Hmm…” I thought to myself, weighing the options in my mind, “I’m sure it’s just a spider bite," I said. Sure enough, as I was attempting to carry out my plan later that night, it distracted me just enough to cause me to step on the edge of a basin filled with bathwater, spilling the water all over the floor and out into the hallway. Just like that, my plan had gone from taking a shower, drying off, and then getting in bed to taking a shower, drying off, mopping up the hallway, and then going to bed. Yet by this time, after all the hours I had put into studying culture, I knew I was no rookie anymore. I am now resilient, unphased when things don’t go exactly according to plan. So I calmly completed showering, before grabbing the towel and drying myself off. Now this is where I made my second mistake, and this mistake was compounded by the first mistake, as mistakes often tend to do. Once again, I forgot a basic cultural tenet. I failed to check the towel for ants. Now for those of you who live someplace cold, you may have noticed two or three varieties of ants crawling around outside on sidewalks before. But if you came to my house, I could show you two or three thousand varieties biting through food containers in my pantry, decorating the walls with their long moving lines, shorting out light switches, and yes, hiding in damp towels. I quickly dried myself off, wrapping the towel around me, and started wiping up the water on the floor. Suddenly, I was made aware of my oversight in inspecting the towel. I jumped around in wild excitement upon realizing that these ants were of the stinging variety, and then ran into the bedroom to begin the process of detaching them from myself. My wife, in an attempt to sympathize with my plight, said, “Oh honey, you didn’t check the towel for ants did you? I always do that.” That didn’t make me feel much better, but dumping out ant poison all over the house did. As I crawled into my nice soft bed a little later than expected that night, I was thinking about all those cultural things that I’ve learned. I thought of the many things that had once been so new and uncertain to me and how now they have become routine. I thought of how much I enjoy sitting out and visiting with people here, and how I’m able to participate more and more in what’s going on. I was just starting to doze off into that first fitful sleep, dreaming about some pleasant cultural experience in a hot and crowded bus and having completely forgotten about any thing bug related, when my wife suddenly sat up in bed and called out, “Do you feel something biting you? I think there are ants in the bed…” At dinner we sat down to have Kunde beans mixed with coconut milk. I poured Micah a glass of pineapple juice. Excited at such a treat he downed it at once, and then a few seconds later he began to cry out in agony. My tooth! My tooth! He ran around the room in circles clutching his jaw. Shortly after we discovered Micah had a huge cavity between his back molars that looked as if it had appeared overnight. I realized then, that if my child had a cavity this big at the age of five, what next? Constant visits to the dentist over the next twelve years and dollar signs marched nearly visibly before my eyes. Being the ardent essential oil enthusiast that I am I headed straight for my box of oils and picked out clove oil which “they say” is supposed to numb the gums around the area where the paining tooth is. Micah, upon my command, obediently held his mouth open as I applied the oil. Then his screaming changed from “my tooth, my tooth!” to “it burns, oh it burns!” Well, at least we alleviated the pain coming from the tooth, I cynically told myself. I then resorted to my natural mom instincts and thanks to children’s Tylenol, a warm bath, and a short cartoon, three hours later he was ready for bed.
The next day, in the morning, a group of Micah’s friends came over to play. Micah quickly told them the saga from the night before and how, that very morning he was headed to the dentist for the very first time. At that all the children began fighting for a chance to share their dramatic first time visits to the dentist. The thought of having ones tooth pulled was not foreign in the least to them. This could be in part because here, in Dar es Salaam, there are small stores called dukas on every street corner. Amongst the many useful things they sell there are also gum balls, lollipops, juices and soda pop. Some are quite affordable, and parents will give there children a few shillings to buy treats at the store down the road in an attempt to appease their children’s tummies between meals. As Micah and I shut our gate, locked it and headed down our dirt path towards the main road all of his friends followed us. One little girl who was Micah’s age began telling me in her animated way about her experience at the hospital, how they pulled her tooth because it had been rotted through from cavities. She began in excitement, recalling how she got into the big chair and how as they pulled her tooth they had to keep wiping away the blood. For such a small little girl she didn’t shy away from any detail. My little entourage made me feel quite important as we walked accompanied, to the road. Indeed, I began to feel that this was no ordinary trip to the dentist. When we reached the place where the cars and trucks passed by in great speed the children all stood in a row behind us and solemnly waved goodbye. I felt as if I were headed on some grave undertaking in which I may never again return. I took Micah’s hand, ran across the road to the nearby bus stop and climbed aboard. As I was sitting, watching the familiar landscape pass by, my thoughts shifted to the approaching dentist visit and our solemn little entourage wishing us farewell. For real, I was about to meet one of my biggest mommy fears head on. The first visit to the dentist. What would it mean? Would I be holding Micah down as he got the necessary anesthetic? Would his screams be heard from miles around as the doctor turned on the drill? As we walked into the office, the sweet receptionist gave Micah a big smile and directed us to fill out a form. Micah was able to sign his own name at the bottom. Then he looked up to me from his chair and asked in a shaky sort of way “have you been here before mom?” “Yes.” I answered. “And it was just fine. In fact, I remember it seemed like a space ship. Everything was very modern and automatic. Even the chair is controlled with buttons.” At that Micah’s eyes twinkled and I could see him relax. “Put that down as a gold star” I told myself. Then the receptionist called him in and the friendly doctor met us. We all got acquainted, then Micah slid onto the reclined automatic chair. He gazed in wonder at all the gleaming instruments arranged on the trays and above at the bright lights and suspended computer screen. The assistant slid sun glasses onto his face and to Micah’s delight the dentist asked Micah to push the button to raise his chair up. Then the dentist asked Micah how many teeth he thought he had. “Ten.” Micah answered confidently. “Well, let’s find out.” The dentist counted Micah’s teeth and informed him that he had twenty, not just ten. Then he spotted the giant cavity, and warned Micah about eating too much sugar. This was music to my ears, especially after finding grains of sugar all over Micah’s cheeks the previous day, evidence he had been snitching from the sugar jar. Micah groaned but nodded his head in submission. A short time later, we were headed out the door. “Have a Merry Christmas!”, the dentist yelled. After we arrived back home Micah told his inquisitive friends all about his trip to the dentist, which was really more like a space ship than anything else. I felt a sigh of relief. Thank goodness for children’s Tylenol, little friends, and modern technology in Tanzania. … 17, 18, 19, 20, Ready or not, here I come! It’s a game we often play with Micah, and more often than not, he’s not ready, and he’s caught hiding under a blanket in the center of the living room floor. Not that it matters, because even when he finds a good hiding spot, his giggles usually give him away.
Hide and seek is a fun game to play with our kids, but when we play this game with the living God, there is no giggling, just a dreadful feeling in the pit of our stomachs. Somehow, God allows us to live in our fantasies for a while, but when he comes searching, even our most elaborate temples will give us less protection from his searching eyes than that blanket in the middle of the living room. There was once a man of God who was living in exile on a small Mediterranean island. His aged body showed the scars of a life devoted to following God, at any cost. In his youth, he had spent time with Jesus, listened to his teachings, and even witnessed his death. He went on to write several holy books, which can still be read today in the Scriptures. In his old age, as he was waiting out his time in exile, he received a vision from God. He records it for us in the final book he wrote, the “Revelation of Jesus Christ.” In the first chapter, he tells us how he was taken up into heaven, and how the Man whom he had followed in his youth, the same Man whom he had seen put to death, appeared in front of him. His hair was as pure as the whitest wool, and his face shown with all the energy of the sun. His voice sounded with the sound and power of many waterfalls, and his eyes, flaming as fire, saw through him so that he fell down as dead. But then, this same Man put his hand on his shoulder, and spoke with words which cut straight and true, “Do not be afraid, I am the first and the last, I am he who lives, and was dead, and behold, I am alive forevermore… and I have the keys of Hell and death.” Caught completely in the open, vulnerable, exposed, naked in front of the Holy God, his words piercing into the deepest part of his being, judging his every thought and intention. This is where John, the man of God, found himself the day of his vision. From where he laid as a dead man, unable to defend himself, he knew there was nothing holy in him, instead, he was made holy by the hand which touched his shoulder. John was not the first and he certainly won’t be the last to find himself in this place. A man and woman were the first to find themselves in this awkward position of trying to hide from God in the garden he made. 1, 2, 3… they heard him coming. They felt something new deep inside. They didn’t care much for this invasive feeling, so they tried to make it go away by covering themselves with leaves. …17, 18, 19… they still felt that sick feeling gnawing away at their insides, the guilt unacknowledged yet growing greater with each passing moment. They knew their time was up, but in a desperate attempt to escape the inevitable, they dove into the bushes to hide. …20. Found! Their hiding place didn’t work, God was there, like it or not. The feeling in their stomachs continued eating them up, they were dying, but they couldn’t admit it. Just as the Searcher’s eyes saw right through their hiding place, his words cut right through their defenses and on into their motives, rendering them completely at his mercy. Since that day, there have been others who have found themselves in the presence of the Searcher, and their reactions were similar. They felt that same sick feeling of failure, knowing they hadn’t lived up to their consciences, and being unable to hide or excuse it, they fell down before him as dead. But this Searcher is a God who raises the dead, some to live eternally in his presence and others to be separated from him forever. God is still counting, but the time is coming when he will come looking, and each of us will find himself in this fearful yet awesome position. Just as John, the man and woman, and these others have, we will face the one who’s been searching for us. How that day transpires hinges upon the decisions we make today. God is already searching, looking for those who will respond to his word. When we hear his words, and when they begin to penetrate the fortresses of our hearts, they begin to arouse that old feeling of failure within us. It’s not comfortable, and many of us run into the bushes in an attempt to silence the pain, but we’re only prolonging the inevitable. If we will just remain, allowing his words to penetrate deep inside of our hearts, if we learn to accept ourselves for the way he sees us instead of the way we want to see us, we will come to realize that this God who sees through us and knows everything about us loves us. The word of God will bring us to a place where we feel utterly naked under his gaze, unable to resist him, aware that we’re dirty, knowing that he’s aware of it to, yet, instead of killing us, he cleans us, replacing that terrible feeling of failure, fear, and guilt with an uncontainable feeling of love. Suddenly, the thought of hiding becomes ridiculous, although it’s still not easy, as God’s word continues to do it’s work in each corner of our hearts. One day, though, when I appear in front of him with all kinds of fear and joy I’ll be able to say, “Now to you who was able to keep me from stumbling, and to present me faultless before the presence of your glory with exceeding joy…” When you’re learning language and culture, it’s important to be around other people. Getting outside of your house is a great way to do this. However, there are some challenges to this approach of language learning. Here are a few tips I’ve gathered to help anyone interested to meet these challenges head on.
Get used to sitting on hard objects. The following is a true life story used to illustrate this point. I did take some liberty when translating bits of conversation from Swahili to English. The translation portions are meaning based, rather than form based. I was sitting on a comfy cement block watching people walk up and down the street in front of our house. I noticed an elderly neighbor sitting on a rock under a tree not far from where I was relaxing comfortably, and I thought to myself that it would be a good thing to do to go and greet him. I stood up, stretched my legs, and walked over to say hi. I chose the plushest looking rock I could find to sit down on, and began to share stories with him. As it turned out, the most plush looking rock I could find had a sharp point on it, and at the same time that I became aware of that little bit of jaggedness, I also realized that there were actually no other rocks to sit on. I thus remained seated, and proceeded to visit with my neighbor, who just happened to be blessed with the gift of gab. I learned about his family history, his past work experience, current events, what’s going on in the news, and what the future holds. While he was attempting to help me expand my cultural knowledge by explaining each topic in detail, I was trying to smoothen the uncomfortable parts of the rock by squirming around a lot on it, but it didn’t work. After a few hours, he started running out of topics so he began asking me questions about my life. I couldn’t help but notice that he was still sitting rather comfortably on his rock. I did my very best to answer his questions, but he somehow still noticed that I was trying to elevate myself above the rock while remaining seated on it. He chuckled a little bit, probably because I said something funny, and then asked me if I would like to go sit on the comfy cement blocks, where I had been sitting before. I told him I was very comfy, which is one of those little white lies told for the purpose of showing respect, because I didn’t want him to have to move, but mostly because I didn’t want to loose at sitting on a rock for a long time to an older man. We continued right on talking, and I continued right on squirming. The game was just reaching the point where victory was in sight, mostly because my legs were just about numb and theoretically, I could have sat indefinitely after that point, when he said, “Hey, let’s go and move to the comfy blocks.” And I said, “Okay, if you want to.” Develop an auto response mechanism. The following true life story illustrates the tendency to repeat certain words quickly and without thinking when you get nervous. These words are “Good”, “Thank you”, and “Have a nice day.” There is a time to use this strategy and a time not to, as I am sure you will see in this story. I was on my way. It was the third day of my getting my drivers license adventure. I was walking back from the bank to the DMV. I already knew the way, because it was necessary to make this journey three separate times in order to complete the process of obtaining my new license to drive. The bank was a convenient twenty minute walk away, and after standing in line for hours, it was a great way to stretch my legs. As I was walking alongside the road, I came across two men. I said hello to them and kept on walking. They tried to get me to stop and chat, so I said “Good, Thank you, Have a nice day.” I didn’t know them or that part of town so I kept on walking faster. I had an uneasy feeling about them, so I was glad when I came back out to the main road, five minutes later. Still just a little bit nervous, I kept walking. Soon, I passed a woman and greeted her, and she greeted me back. She asked me how I was and I said, “Good.” Then she said, “I am sick, do you have money?” “Thank you.” I responded as I continued to walk briskly, “Have a nice day.” Almost a minute later, her words made it into my ears, but my auto response mechanism had already long been utilized. Slow down and think faster. As the author so wonderfully illustrated in the above story, sometimes it is helpful to wait until after you have heard what the person you are talking to has said before using your auto response mechanism. This can be challenging when there is a 30 to 40 second lag time between when the words are spoken and when the words are heard. Although the wait can seem a bit awkward, remember it is essential if you truly want to understand the person you are conversing with. As you refine your listening skills and hone your patience, you may find that your processing speed grows exponentially. Here is some further advice, which is actually better then mine. "Let nothing be done through selfish ambition or conceit, but in lowliness of mind let each esteem others better than himself. Let each of you look out not only for his own interests, but also for the interests of others." -Philippians 2:3-4 Why do you love me?
Tho I don’t deserve it, If you only didn’t, I could quit. Why am I here? Is the question I hear, I have an answer, Tho it’s not always clear. I once had a dream I even achieved it Tho it’s not what it might seem. A roof over my head, A wife, kid, and a bed, A job I enjoyed and an old truck. I lived in a place with rivers and mountains, And plenty of places to get that truck stuck. I lived in a place with a market and fountains, And a church family I loved. I was living my dream, I couldn’t ask for more, Content though I was, You had more for me in store. Now here I sit, Sweat pouring down my face, Why do you love me? Why have you showered me with grace? Here I’m so insecure, Yet with nothing to fear, Tho I’m often confused, Of one thing I am sure. Somehow I’m loved By the God of Abraham, And there’s still people living, Who can’t understand. But how can I tell them? Did you make a mistake? Yet why do you love me? Tho I don’t deserve it, I you only didn’t, I could quit. I can’t tell them with words, I have to admit, How do you love me? Is it just words, is that it? No, there’s something more to it, Someway you just know. The words tho important, Have no place to go, If the heart isn’t in it, You got nothin’ to show. _____________________ Lord, here I am, so will you give me a heart like yours? Help me love others as you’ve loved me. Help me forgive others as you’ve forgiven me. Put my heart in it, so that love will show through in my everything. Thank you. Someday I will again speak of your love. For now, I’ll demonstrate it through the strength it provides. _________________________ "If I could speak all the languages of earth and of angels, but didn't love others, I would only be a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal." - 1 Corinthians 13:1 “Beep, beep, beep…” the alarm sounds, just like it did the day before. I roll out of bed and walk sleepily to the kitchen to boil some water for coffee and oatmeal before throwing some sausages on the griddle. As the water steams and the sausages sizzle, I slap a sandwich together and throw it into a plastic bag along with some pretzels and an apple, just like I did the day before. I fill my jug up with water, sit down to eat my breakfast while simultaneously reading a Psalm, and head out the door for work, grabbing my truck keys along the way, just like I did the day before. Then I wake up.
Was I dreaming? I must have been, because this scene from Idaho seemed too familiar, and familiar has become a foreign word. Here, I never know what to expect in a day. Not that I do something fun or adventurous every day, it’s not like that, instead, it’s more of the same routine, except, I don’t understand this routine, or how I fit into it. Today, I wake up wondering what I will do. I know I’ll bring Micah to school, I know I need to find people to talk to in order to grow in my understanding of life here, but I have no idea how I’ll do it until later afternoon, when I’ll go to listen to stories with some guys from the neighborhood. I ask God to lead me to the right people as I get off the bus with Micah, and we walk the short distance to his school. I say goodbye to Micah, we do our secret handshake, and I walk away. Near the school, I run into a friend slashing the grass in the lawn. I end up helping him for a couple of hours, thankful for the opportunity to get to know him a little better and exercise my Swahili, as well as my arm. I return home soaking wet, just like I did the day before, only the day before I was surprised by a sudden rainstorm, today from sweat. Later, I found out someone else on our street has died, but they have already done the burial. I felt bad, especially when everyone I talked to said they’d gone to the funeral, while we were too late. Here, it is not good to miss the funeral of one of your neighbors. There are still so many things that happen around us each day that I am oblivious to. So much of what is routine for our neighbors has not yet registered on my radar. Too often, we are ships passing in the dark. Someone has compared culture to an iceberg, and I think it serves as a good illustration. What you can see on top, people’s outward behavior, is held up by what you can’t see underneath, a huge mass which contains the sum of their past experiences, interactions with others, education, religious teaching, and a host of other factors which makes them who they are. Here, people have grown up in similar surroundings, which have caused their icebergs to form in a similar fashion, so they can relate. For me, I was brought up in a vastly different setting, and while it’s true there are a few things I have in common with my neighbors here, in many ways my iceberg has quite a different shape, making it much harder to relate. Now, I’m no longer dreaming, I’m wide awake. I remember being thirteen, watching a football game in my parents living room. The announcer commented how cornerbacks need a short memory when covering wide receivers. He was saying that after they get beat on a route, they need to shake it off and focus on the next play, maintaining their confidence. I remember further back, when I was nine, asking my mom how I could keep going after I kept making the same mistakes. She showed me the 16th verse from Proverbs chapter 24, which says, “a righteous man may fall seven times and rise again.” I knew I’d fallen more than seven times, but I got the concept: you may lose some battles, but don’t give up on the war. At the end of the day, I realize to make it here I need to be walking with God. I need to follow his leading, to rest in his acceptance, to enjoy his forgiveness, and to take courage in his calling. I know when I go out and make a mistake, when I miss out on important community events, when I stumble all over my words, when I make myself into a fool, I need to forget it, move on, take a break if I need one, and then get back out again. I may not know what’s coming next, but I know someone who has promised to direct me, and its all part of the process of learning, making new friends, and slowly building a new familiar. Many things about tomorrow, I don’t seem to understand But I know who holds tomorrow, and I know who holds my hand. -Unknown Saturday dawned, another hot day. Could this truly be rainy season? It hasn’t rained now for five days and when it does rain it is very little. Today, I am empty again. I get filled up and then my well runs dry. Why? I feel so weak, so tired, so unhappy, fragile. Why the ups and downs? I yearn for rain. God please send down rain on my soul. But I'm not giving in. I'll keep going. I want to keep following God wherever he chooses to lead me. I know anything else will ultimately lead to disappointment. Seeking the easy way out is just a mirage, a shadow strategically placed by the enemy to distract from what’s really there. This morning, as I was in the bathroom feeling rather ill, I had this thought about how pathetic I must look. At that moment I felt gross, sweaty, weak, and tired. I suddenly became conscious of my fragility, my limitations, my weakness. I wondered if this is how Satan sees me; of no value, just an ugly, smelly mortal that he wants to destroy. He can’t even begin to understand why God loves us so much, why he’s reached out his hand to the weak, the poor, and the simple. Perhaps that is why we bring such glory to God as believers in the body of Christ, weak as we are, yet bonding together in unity, pressing forward to accomplish the impossible through the power of his Spirit within us. Demons and Angels alike hover above our world watching us, studying us, marveling at us. There is a whole realm of spiritual beings that we cannot see, though at times we can feel them. The demons are trying to destroy us and our walk with God, the Angels are protecting and watching over us, yet God has chosen the simple things of this world to confuse the wise, and to confound the enemy. (1Cor.1:27) It’s part of His amazing plan, and when looked at as a whole it is incredible. God's Word tells us God chose to create people, not because he had to or because he needed the fellowship, but because he wanted his masterpiece, human beings, to have a relationship with him. After God made Adam and Eve he proved this by walking and talking with them in the garden during the cool hours of the day. Satan watched from afar, seething with anger. How could God form such fragile human beings out of dirt of all things, and then bring His presence before them, walking and talking with them? How could he desire such an intimate relationship with them? He saw how precious they were to God and decided to take a shot at God’s heart. He began to weave a web of deceit and lies that he hoped would destroy God’s cherished creation and break God’s relationship with people forever. Yet, in the midst of his plot, the all-knowing, all-seeing God took a step back and watched as he let Adam and Eve make a choice. God didn't create people to be machines, he doesn’t want their actions to be mechanical, cold and hard, pre-calculated without heart or love. No, God wants our hearts, all of us. So on that fateful day when Adam and Eve stood under the Tree of Good and Evil, fingering the fruit, listening to the serpent, toying with sin; God sat back, watched and waited. He saw His children fall. They felt the effects of sin, the guilt and the shame, separation from God, and in their pride they tried to fix it all with leaves thrown together in an attempt to mask their vulnerability before God. But then the most incredible thing happened. A holy, perfect God came down to walk as usual in the cool of the day with his creation. He knew what they had done, and still he pursued them. He found them hiding from Him, shivering with fear. Then he gave them a chance to come clean about what they had done, but instead they accused each other, choosing to blame their environment rather than ask for forgiveness. God listened to their excuses, and then explained to them the consequences their act would bring upon all of their offspring. They must have been overwhelmed by the heaviness of what God was saying, but even in the midst of such despair God gave them a small ray of hope. He gave them their first glimpse into a rescue plan that had already been set into motion (Gen 3:15). It would be something that even the spirit beings in heaven would ponder over (1 Peter. 1:12). Then the reality of their consequences began to set in. They were sent out of the garden, the only place that they had ever known, into a foreign world full of the effects of sin: tears, pain, sweat, and toil. Satan smiled. But God didn’t just forget about Adam and Eve and their offspring. That's not like him. Even after their sin, God continued to relentlessly pursue them. He spoke to Cain and Abel when they came before him with their sacrifices, showing them what was required to cover their sins. To see Abel communing with God must have irritated Satan, as we know it irritated Cain. Satan did his best to destroy God’s plan early on, using Cain to murder Abel, and then using his descendents to infest the earth with evil. But Satan could never quench God’s love for his creation. From Abel, Noah, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob and Joseph, God began to call out a people that would once again walk in relationship with him. It was never perfect, not quite like it had been in the beginning, but still God tirelessly pursued the hearts of men. He told them to build a temple, a place of holiness, where a righteous God could meet with his people. He gave them specific directions on how to offer sacrifices to him. He told them to choose the best and spotless out of their flocks of bulls, sheep and goats and to bring them to the temple where the animal’s blood would be shed. He did this so his children would not easily forget the huge cost of sin and their continual need for Him. He wanted them to know that without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness of sin (Heb. 9:22). So day by day, week by week, year after year, the blood was spilled. But was this it? Was God’s plan complete? God was able to come and sit amongst his children in the temple, but could he walk with them? Could he talk with them? No. Instead, inside the temple there was a thick curtain that separated him from his children. Cleary, the blood sacrifices of animals could not fix the separation between man and God. But God was just setting the stage for what would come next. And it started when a brilliant angel showed up one day to tell an average teenage girl that she would give birth to a baby boy who would "save his people from their sins" (Matt. 1:21). This child would be born fully God, coming from God, possessing his nature, yet he would also be fully man, subject to the limitations of a human body. From the place Jesus was born, an old earthy animal stable, to the people he chose to teach and spend his time with, he did things differently than one might expect of someone with his credentials. He stretched out his hand to the poor, the prostitutes, the tax collectors, the sinners. He held small simple children on his lap and He had a way of capturing people’s hearts. It baffled the religious leaders of that time but most of all it baffled Satan and enraged him that again a Holy God was reaching out to ugly, sweaty, dirty human beings. But this time it was all too close for comfort. God was once again walking and talking with people. The gap between people and God was in danger of being bridged. But could he have foreseen what would come next? Could he have even guessed? As he saw Jesus giving people freedom and hope he tried harder to destroy him. He reverted back to a proven method, he used humanity's pride to get to Jesus. Just as Adam was to proud to admit his failure in the garden, just as Cain was to proud to fess up to his mistakes, the religious leaders were to proud to let Jesus live and continue to challenge their authority. Satan used them, and had Jesus hung on a cross amidst two common theives. At that moment, with the crowds jeering and the soldiers laughing, Satan probably howled in victory. His plan to destroy God’s most cherished creation and to destroy any way of salvation from sin was complete, or so he must have thought. But then, as Jesus cried out to his Father, the skies darkened and the earth was shaken from its very foundation. The thick heavy curtain in the temple which had separated people from God was torn in two. Suddenly, Satan’s shrieks of glee were silenced. This curtain was not torn by human hands, but by God himself. Three days later, Jesus rose from the grave as a conqueror, victorious over sin and death. Now the chasm between people and God was bridged by Jesus Christ himself. Where the blood of goats, sheep and bulls had shown the need for the shedding of blood for the covering of sin, it could never fully bring restoration in our relationship with God. Rather, God himself came down to live on earth, and to live perfectly amongst us as he himself became the spotless lamb that would die once and for all. He would take each person’s sin on himself. His blood would become the permanent covering for the sins of us all. Now, God was satisfied. God had come down to live with people, and he had saved them himself because there was no other way. He is relentless in pursuing our hearts. Though the core of God’s great plan is complete, Satan has not lain over in defeat. He is in a race against time to destroy as many people he can both spiritually and physically before Jesus comes again to take all those who belong to him. The enemy comes to steal, kill and destroy (John 10:10). He enslaves God’s beautiful creation with addiction to drugs and other harmful substances. He traps men and women in false systems of belief, he laughs as hundreds of thousands of girls and women are sold as sex slaves, and it’s under his watch that orphans and widows are preyed upon. And when a soul is wrenched from his terrible grasp and delivered into the arms of the Savior, he howls with furry. He hates to see men, women, and children begin to once again walk uninhibited in unity with their creator. As God actively pursues people, a spiritual battle is raging in a realm that none of us can see. By using his old tricks the enemy puts doubts in our minds. Once he tries to get us to listen so he can steal our joy, our freedom, and take away our unity with God. But as we are in his Word, God slowly brings our thoughts and beliefs about the world around us into alignment with his heart. It is the channel through which the we are encouraged and strengthened from day to day in a world which is often against God. But if Satan succeeds in making us so busy that we either forget or have no desire for God’s Word and prayer, then he has effectively broken down our defenses and can have his way with us. His goal? To cause chaos and disunity within families, marriages, churches, and countries. His mission is still to separate people from an intimate relationship with God. But when we choose to make time with God, to beg him for a desire, yes, even a craving to read his Word and pray, then Satan trembles. When people are engaged in a relationship with their creator miracles begin to happen, lives are transformed, families walk in unity, but most importantly, God is glorified and Satan is thwarted. The angels watch as weak, simple, earthly, finite human beings walk hand in hand with a Holy God and they wonder in awe at his mighty plan and power. Blessed are the poor in spirit,
For theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted. Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth. Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be filled. Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy. Blessed are the pure in heart, For they shall see God. Blessed are the peacemakers, For they shall be called sons of God. Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. -Matthew 5:3-10. In the early morning hours, while it was still dark, I was awoken by the sound of rain drops pelting our corrugated tin roof. A breeze had entered our room and I remember thinking before I dozed off to sleep again, “finally, a break from the heat.” Later as I awoke and started my day everything felt fresh and clean, even the birds outside had a renewed sound to their song. I wondered what the day would have in store.
I left the house on an errand. As I was returning I passed a group of about twenty men carrying pick axes, shovels and hoes. They had somber looks on their faces as they walked past me down the muddy road. I puzzled at it, wondering what they were doing. As I continued back toward my house I passed our neighbor sitting next to her fire frying fish. I exchanged the normal greetings with her. I asked her what the news of her children was and the news of her home. She told me all was well but that she had just heard news that a young child had died the night before. I learned that the group of men who had passed me earlier had been headed to the cemetery to dig the grave. Suddenly I forgot about the joyful cry of the birds and my heart became heavy. That night, as I had been enjoying the falling rain against the roof a mother had lost her child. I walked home quickly to tell Neil the news. He had already heard, and after talking about it, we thought it would be good if at least one of us could go to the funeral. I decided I would go, but I wasn’t sure what I should do. As much as we desire to get to know our neighbors here and understand what is going on around us, the reality is we are still outsiders in many ways. I couldn’t just get up and go by myself, I felt I needed to go with a friend who could explain to me what the normal expectations would be. After mustering up my courage I went back to ask the Mama next door if I could go with her and to my relief, she agreed. I asked her what I should wear, and she told me that it would be good to wear a kanga and a head covering. A half an hour later, I emerged from my house, and as I walked down the path I heard snickers coming from a group of women across the street, who no doubt were remarking about my appearance. I felt my face change color. I wanted to dig a hole in the road right then and hide in it, head covering and all! But, because I had no shovel, I continued walking ahead and sat down on my neighbor’s porch. As I was waiting for her, I saw that since I’d gone back to my house, the group of men had returned from the cemetery and had finished preparing for the burial. Now I saw them walking past again, this time carrying the limp body of the child, beautifully wrapped in a blanket along with a small woven mkeka. The men all walked together in a solemn processional down the dirt road toward the cemetery. “The bundle was so small, so limp!” I thought to myself. I thought of my child and my heart broke for that mama. I wanted to begin to cry, but here, emotion is something that can be misunderstood, so I gulped back my tears and tried to regain my composure. After a short time my neighbor emerged from her door and the two of us, along with another mama, walked toward the home of the little girl that had died. It took only a minute to arrive. Once there I fell in behind the other women, feeling strangely out of place. We respectfully greeted the elders first, and then the women of the house showed us our place on an mkeka. There were about twenty women present, all dressed in brightly colored madiras with beautiful matching head coverings. I slid out of my flip flops and crammed in on the edge of the matt. A mama that I had sat next to pushed her beans and rice over to me and indicated that I should share with her. We ate together off the same dish using our hands. The women next to me looked at me in surprise, “a foreigner who likes rice and beans!” they exclaimed. I put my head down and continued to eat, to shy to respond. “What church does she go to?” someone asked, others answered, “the church down the road.” They motioned with their heads. They continued to talk about me until the beans and rice were put away and the time had come for us to walk into the house and pay our respects to the mother of the child who had died. We walked slowly into the dark room. There were about eight women in the room, all sitting quietly on the floor. The mother was sitting in the corner of the room with her youngest child on her lap. He was probably only seven months old, but looked so sad, as if he understood everything that was going on. I followed behind my host and watched her shake the right hand of each woman there, quietly saying sorry to each one. I followed after her and did as she did. When I got to the mama who had lost her child, I wanted to hug her and comfort her in the way I would want to be comforted in my culture, but I restrained myself. I knelt down and slowly extended my right hand and said, “sorry mama, very sorry.” We then turned and walked out of the house and resumed our positions on the mkeka. A short while later, the men returned from the cemetery and laid down their shovels and hoes. At that moment, the women within the house began to howl and cry. It was an eerie sound. The baby inside began to cry as well. I sat with my head lowered. A lot of thoughts entered my mind at that point about the hopelessness that death brings for so many. After about ten minutes the crying subsided and I edged over to where my friend was sitting. I asked her, “was the little girl that died last night the one who always wore the torn green dress?” My friend nodded in conformation. “Eyye, she’s the one alright.” My heart sank. I had just seen her a week earlier. She had run to the road to wave at me with her big smile. As usual I smiled and waved back as I passed by. Now I wished I had walked over to her and given her a hug. I had no idea that within the week she would get malaria and enter into eternity. After we sat for a bit longer the family members began to file out of the house and my host signaled it was time to depart. We thanked them for the food, gave a few more condolences, and left. As I returned home and sat down inside I began to process all that I had seen and heard. The group of men heading down the road to the cemetery to dig a grave, the response of the community to come gather around the mother in her time of grief, the small, limp form wrapped in the matt, the wail of the mother and her relatives, but most of all, the uncertainty. Life is so fragile, again the image of that child flashed through my mind. I realized that I didn’t have the all the answers or a quick verse to put my soul at rest in that moment. I felt pain for the family as they grieved without hope; I felt sadness that I would never see that little girl with the big smile coming out to the road to wave at me again. |