The Fine Balance

Parenthood has a way of making you look at life to try to figure out what really counts.  We’d like to teach our children a million things and protect them from anything that hurts or is unpleasant as well as the things that could actually do them harm.  We would take life’s punches for them if we could, but that is not within God’s design, so we have to pray for wisdom instead.  We have to know when to step in and when to let things go.  We have to discern what is really vital for them to learn and what is just our opinion of what we think is best.  In short, we have to choose our battles and make our words count.

When I think about the most central thing I want my girls to understand as they grow up, it comes down to this; know God.  Listen to God, and hear God.  Commune with God.  Pursue deeper relationship with God relentlessly.  I pray to God that he will speak directly to my girls’ hearts, and that they will hear him and know it is him.  I pray that they will know that their walk with Christ is intimate and real and personal, and that it does not come from Mark’s or my walk with him.  It is their own, and he communes with each of them personally.

Last night, each of my girls talked to Mark and me about experiences they had had with God in prayer, and I know he has heard my cry on their behalf.  It is not surprising, for I know that he desires that intimate relationship with them much more than I desire it for them, but I am touched and amazed all the same.  I praise God for hearing our prayers, and for loving and listening and tending to each of our hearts as only he can.

Yesterday I went to the village of N’Djei for a meeting to discuss the feasibility of bringing AIDS testing to their area.  I had been to Ketao to pick up Bayor, the director of AED’s satellite clinic there, and I was a little apprehensive about finding my way to N”Djei.  Mark always drives when we go out there, and I don’t have a great sense of direction.  Those factors, along with the fact that landmarks vary greatly between rainy season and dry season had me in a state of self-doubt about my ability to find this village.  I was following the map Dave Reeves had drawn for me when I saw Kpacaa on the road.  He had the forethought to walk a little ways down the road to catch me and help me get to the village.  As I sat in the meeting that morning, my heart was warmed by this instance as well as many others where the Kabiye people have watched out for us and shown that they are thinking about our well being and what they can do for us.  I am so touched by their love and thoughtfulness and protectiveness of us, and I praise God for the sense of security he provides through these humble people.

This morning I was finishing up my language lessons when the doorbell rang.  It was Jerome, one of the elders from N’Djei who had arrived on his bike, ready for a meeting to discuss well drilling.  He asked me a common Kabiye question, if my trip home from the village went ok yesterday.  The irony of the question struck me as I had made the hour long trip home in my truck the day before, and he was standing in our yard having just made the same trip on his bike.  What an amazing reminder to me of how God is glorified in the hearts of those who have so little and are so content.  I am humbled by this man’s love for and seeking after Christ amidst the challenges he faces in his everyday life.  To him having to spend hours on his bike to get to a meeting is not a reason to not attend the meeting, it is a reason to get up extra early so that he can make it here on time.  He is a poor man who is rich in Christ.  I have so much to learn from Jerome and Kpacaa.

My heart has also been filled by the love and kindness of our teammates this week, feeding us and planning nights out for the girls and me.  These ministrations have welled up in gratefulness for God’s presence in my life and in the lives of Michal and Maddie.  I truly feel that I am surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses, and that some of the most beautiful outpourings of God’s love are in the most mundane tasks.  I thank God for continually showing me his goodness and the goodness of those who have emptied themselves that they might be his vessels.

Last week was a tough week, but a good one.  The last two months have held some great times and some very difficult times, and handling both extremes can be emotionally tiring. Over the last week I have taken time to spend in reflection, and I am thankful to God for the opportunities he gives me to do this as well as the blessings he bestows as a result of it.  I have been reflecting on my family, particularly my sister Carrie since her birthday was last week.  I have been reflecting on the bittersweet memories of my dear nephew, Ben, and took time to print off a picture of him with the girls and put it in a frame (I have been wanting to do that for awhile, but just now worked up the courage.)  My family went to one of Ben’s favorite restaurants that evening and shared time together in remembering him, and I wish I could have been there.  I have been reflecting on where I stand before God, and searching my heart for some things that need to be removed.  I have also been thinking about when our family moved away from Togo at the end of 2002 and of how God redeemed a difficult time in our lives and opened our eyes to some blind spots.

This week, I am grateful for some quiet time and for God’s faithful presence when we go through sad or difficult times.

I have definitely been a delinquent blogger lately.  The reason is that I am feeling pretty down, and I have a hard time writing because I feel like I will either be fake or depressing.

Ben’s birthday is coming up in two days.  He would have been 26 this year.  It’s pretty crazy to think of him being in his mid twenties, I guess that’s how it is with kids you’ve known and loved since their birth.  What is even crazier is to think of how as time passes, there will never be any new memories of him.  It has been a little more than a year since he died, but I think being on the other side of the world makes it easy to revert back to the denial stage, and I have to remind myself that we won’t see him when we go back.  I mean, it’s normal not to see him when we live in Africa.  It’s a strange feeling, like my mind can’t really grasp the reality that he is gone, but I feel like I should because it’s been more than a year.

I don’t like writing about my sadness, but I also don’t like hiding it, so there it is.  I have a busy week ahead of me as I will spend four days in clinic work (as opposed to my usual two) so perhaps I will be too worn out to dwell on it.  Also, God often gives me the gift of perspective as I spend time with people from the clinic, so maybe better days are headed my way.

During my time of reflection today, I found this website.  What amazing and beautiful insight to help us draw near to God at Christmastime.   The following is an excerpt from the sites article about the season of Advent.

Both the season of Advent and the season of Lent are about hope. It is not just hope for a better day or hope for the lessening of pain and suffering, although that is certainly a significant part of it. It is more about hope that human existence has meaning and possibility beyond our present experiences, a hope that the limits of our lives are not nearly as narrow as we experience them to be. It is not that we have possibility in ourselves, but that God is a God of new things and so all things are possible (Isa 42:9, Mt 19:26, Mk 14:36)

God’s people in the first century wanted Him to come and change their oppressive circumstances, and were angry when those immediate circumstances did not change. But that is a short sighted view of the nature of hope. Our hope cannot be in circumstances, no matter how badly we want them or how important they are to us. The reality of human existence, with which the Book of Job struggles, is that God’s people experience that physical existence in the same way that others do. Christians get sick and die, Christians are victims of violent crimes, and Christians are hurt and killed in traffic accidents, bombings, war, and in some parts of the world, famine (see The Problem of Natural Evil).

If our hope is only in our circumstances, as we define them to be good or as we want them to be to make us happy, we will always be disappointed. That is why we hope, not in circumstances, but in God. He has continually, over the span of four thousand years, revealed himself to be a God of newness, of possibility, of redemption, the recovery or transformation of possibility from endings that goes beyond what we can think or even imagine (Eph 3:2). The best example of that is the crucifixion itself, followed by the resurrection. That shadow of the cross falls even over the manger

This morning our doorbell sounded at an early hour.   I wasn’t dressed yet and was trying to get my groggy girls out of bed and ready for school. Our visitor was Kpacaa, an elder from the church in N’Djei who had come for the leaders meeting that was scheduled to start in two hours. I gave my friend a cup of wassail and explained to him that it is a drink we like to drink at Christmastime. Kpacaa is an older man who speaks in a forceful and halting way. He is, for the most part, blind. He greeted me and then we had the same conversation that we have every time I see him. He asks me if he can use my phone to call his daughter and then asks me why I don’t speak Kabiye as well as my husband. When Kpacaa comes into town, he rides a bike part of the way in, then he catches a taxi-moto because his sight is too poor to ride safely on city streets. He loves his wife and serves her in an absolutely counter-cultural way. As I was thinking about this man who has become so dear to my heart, it reminded me of how I viewed people a year into our first term of living here. I was so fearful that someone would take advantage of me that I could not see the beauty in the people around me. My interactions were guarded and characterized by worry that I would say or do something wrong, or that someone would treat me poorly and I wouldn’t know what to do. Nine years later I am much more secure in who I am and have a much more balanced view of the people around me. I don’t feel the need to protect myself from the people here because I am at peace knowing that I am always in God’s hands. I realize that most of the people here are good-natured and kind, and I really enjoy my friendships. I am grateful that I don’t have to let the burden of fear and insecurity impede me from seeing the amazing things God has done and continues to do in the lives of people like Kpacaa. I thank him that he has grown me and didn’t allow me to stay immature, but has brought me to a place where I can see the miracles he works daily through those who love him. I am so humbled that I get to witness the amazing mystery of the Holy Spirit alive and active in the hearts of Kabiye people who love him.

I am making preparations to attend the international AIDS Conference in Vienna this summer.  As I  spend time sifting through the website and looking at their program, the thought comes to my mind, “What do I think I’m doing?”  I’m not a doctor, nurse, or any other kind of medical professional.  I have no background in Public Health or Community Development, but here I am working in the field of a pandemic disease.  This is crazy!

It is funny how when I look at the big picture of this work it is overwhelming and laughable that I think I have anything to offer, but when I just look at the day to day stuff, it feels so manageable.  I can make home visits to make sure that children are being well cared for and that families are functioning well.  I can attend group meetings where clinic members discuss the issues facing them.  I can help train people in problem solving techniques and educational strategies.  I can help orphans find homes and provide support for women who lovingly take these children in.  And I can certainly meet, get to know, encourage, and pray with and for my friends at the clinic.

I am really excited at the prospect of becoming better qualified for my work at the conference this summer.  However, the huge gap between what is really needed and what I have to offer helps me to focus on the fact that anything I have to offer really comes from God, so I don’t have to have all of the answers or qualifications.  In my weakness His strength becomes evident.  In that light, it is easy to see why my co-workers offer such effusive thanks for what I do.  My weakness is so great that there is plenty of room for God’s strength to be made known.

One of my favorite family traditions we have is our annual tree decorating party.  It had it’s beginnings when we lived in Memphis and invited the neighborhood children over to help us decorate our tree and drink hot chocolate.  For our neighbors from Sudan, it was their first time to see or decorate a Christmas tree, and it was great fun for us all.

This year our guest list included our three teachers, Bethany, Jacque, and Sarah, Adam, Essowe (my language teacher and close friend,)  and their three daughters Anne, Grace, and Johanna, Sitsope (our babysitter,)and Rose, Massa, and Ruth (two orphans from the clinic and their new adoptive mother.)  We ate dinner together, had a treat of gingerbread men, and then the decorating frenzy began.

What a fun blessing it is to be able to continue on American traditions that are dear to us, but to include our African friends.  It exemplifies what our life here is all about.  We are who we are, and we are different from those around us.  We don’t have to deny that reality to live and love life here, we can learn to embrace it and enjoy the merging of our home culture and our new culture.

It is Wednesday and we are scheduled to have 48 people in our home tomorrow for Thanksgiving.  This morning I sat down to spend some time studying Kabiye with Essowe before embarking on my day of pre-cooking and cleaning, when Beatrice (our houseworker) called to say she has a cold and cannot come to work.  My mind started sifting through possibilities of how I can find help and/or get everything done myself.  I could call Abla, a friend of ours who helps out from time to time, but I spoke with her yesterday and her son is sick.  I called Mana to see if one of her kids could come over and she said that they wouldn’t have time today.  I then started to to sift through what needed to be done to assess what could be simplified or eliminated.  I crossed cooking dinner off my list and replaced it with heating up leftovers, and crossed language lessons off my list and replaced it with preparing veggies (the price for having local, organic veggies from the market is having to sanitize them so that we don’t end up with an amoeba or typhoid.)

As I sat down with Essowe to explain, she eagerly said, “I can help with dishes!”  I tried to refuse her offer, not wanting to burden her with my expanding to-do list, but she insisted.  So Essowe and I set to work in the kitchen together.  We decided to sing Kabiye songs as we worked, thus tackling language lessons in a small way.  We talked about Thanksgiving and what God has done for us.  My plans for today were to accomplish all of the tasks set before me, but Essowe’s kind offer and joyful spirit reminded me that in every dish I cook and every plate I wash, there is joy and Thanksgiving.

I remember last year’s Thanksgiving feast.  Our family invited Essowe, Mana, Beatrice, Sitsope, Joseph, Germaine, and their children to share in a feast of rice with peanut sauce and fruit.  It was very representative of the first Thanksgiving where the foreigners came to a new land and celebrated and gave thanks to God for his provision along with people who were vastly different from them, but who helped them make a new life in their new homeland.  Again I am thankful for God’s provision for us, especially as he uses our Kabiye friends to be his hands and feet in the gifts he offers.

The holidays are approaching and we have just passed the one year mark since our last visit to the US.  We are at the in between point for furloughs (if we take a furlough every two years systematically.)  If I’m not attentive, those factors could lead to me feeling very homesick soon.  In general, I don’t feel like we make such a great sacrifice to be here because the work is so rewarding that it overshadows the sacrifices.  The best term I can think of is “trade-offs” as opposed to “sacrifice.”  However, the holidays are such a sentimental time for me and bring about reminders of the thing that really does feel like a sacrifice, not being able to see family.

So, as we prepare for Thanksgiving, I am trying to plan for ways to make the holiday season merry and bright even though we won’t have all of the traditional props.  We started November off well by having a Harvest Festival (in pictures at top.)  We are now planning Thanksgiving dinner, and I am really looking forward to that.  We will put up our Christmas tree and get out the Christmas dishes that my mother and mother-in-law bought for us.  I am trying to download Christmas movies and Christmas specials from the internet so that our weekly movie nights in December will be Christmas shows, and then I am planning to make fall treats this month and Christmas treats next month.  Decorating our tree is fun because we like to invite some African friends over to help, and they get just as excited about it as we do.  Our team does a party at school for the kids, we ladies have a cookie exchange with other expatriate families, we go caroling, and we are planning to take treats or maybe dinner to the orphanage and/or the school for the blind.  Also, a couple of people have asked about sending us care packages lately and I have told them that we want holiday treats, so maybe we’ll have some red and green M&Ms or other festive things to help us along.

I know that if I just coast along and don’t make all of these plans, this season will pass just like any other, and then I’ll sit and think about all the festivities and fellowship our friends and families are experiencing, and then I’ll feel down.  However, knowing that could happen, I am determined not to allow it.  I am excited about November and December.  I grateful for the amazing amount of blessings we have and for the people that we love and can share this season with, American and African alike!