Just In Case You Think I Have It All Together

I am terrible at this.

By ‘this’ I mean Everything.

Okay, so I make a mean chocolate cake.  But that’s about it.

It probably doesn’t help that learning Kiswahili has cut off my legs at the knees.  Trying to learn how to impact this culture has me feeling helpless.  I know nothing.  I am not cut out for this.  I am not good at this.

It probably doesn’t help that I just had the worst evening ever with one of my children.  The last words this child said to me as I left their room tonight were, “FINE!  I DON’T NEED YOUR HELP!”  and I didn’t even go back in and deal with it because the entirety of the last two hours had been filled with a screaming, ranting, hard-hearted child, various forms of discipline and one-way conversations which accomplished nothing, and a knot in my stomach that got worse with every passing minute.  (Gil is not home tonight!)

It probably doesn’t help that today one of my best friends has been undergoing brain surgery in the States.  Also today, a distraught Tanzanian friend told me about her sister who suddenly died.  Also today, another distraught Tanzanian friend told me about the serious health problems of his grandmother, who raised him.  He has no mother, no father, and she is all he has.

You know, one of those days.

Should I even be here?  Should I even be doing this?  And why on earth am I trying to adopt another child when I can’t even control the ones I have?

Inadequacy.

Helplessness.

I told this child tonight, God’s grace is there. It is so big and wide and deep.  But you must accept it.

Your great grace.  Oh, such grace!

The grace for the child is the same grace for me.  Your grace finds me.

Grace in a sleeping child.

In a new day tomorrow.

In the beauty of this place.

In the hope of the cross.

And maybe even chocolate cake.

24 Hours

Monday, 6:00 pm:  Literally minutes from putting dinner on the table, I turn on the faucet and nothing comes out.  I run to another faucet; still nothing.  I go out the back door and check our tanks.  Nothing.  No water.  Not a drop.

Gil and I examine the situation.  We figure out why the city water has not been coming in and fix the problem.  Water starts coming into the tanks, but it needs to be pumped into the house.  Unfortunately, since the pump had been running with no water, now there is air in the pipes.  Thus, still no water in the house.

We eat dinner.  I grab a couple of our (filtered) water bottles and run them over our sweaty kids’ feet before they go to bed.  That will have to do.  The toilets fill up and we can’t flush them.  Ugh.

I put the dirty dishes on the floor and allow our Jack Russell to clean them for me.  Hopefully that will keep the cockroaches away from the dishes.

7:30 pm:  Our small group comes over. One of the electrical phases in our house goes out, which means that 1/3 of our outlets/power sources don’t work.  I have never understood how this works, but I just go with it.  I take an assessment of the various lights/fans/outlets that are not working, get out the 25 foot extension cord, and use it to plug the fridge into an outlet that actually is working.  We go on with our small group.

10:00 pm:  I use two more water bottles to attempt to wash myself.  One electrical phase is still out, but thankfully not the one for our room air conditioner.  We’ll be able to sleep.

Tuesday, 6:00 am:  I wake up;  I wake the kids up.  They complain that the toilets aren’t flushing.  Josiah refuses to use the toilet and I ask him what he would like me to do about it.  We use drinking water to wash hands and faces.

Make breakfast; make lunches.  I take the kids to school at 7.

8:30 am:  I call Everest.  Everest is the best electrician/plumber/painter/fix-it guy in the ENTIRE WORLD.  We would be lost without him.  I ask him to come and get the air out of our pipes so that we can have water again.

9:00 am:  I have cancelled my Swahili lesson for today.  Instead, my midwife friend, Lyndi, and I are going to visit Esta.  Esta has worked for me for 7 years, but now she is on bedrest in her 5th month of pregnancy.  The doctor had barely told her anything except to go on bedrest, so Lyndi agreed to go with me to check out the situation.

Esta had gone to a government hospital, but all the doctor’s notes were in English, which she can’t read.  Lyndi looked over the paperwork; she examined Esta, and determined that she is fine, the baby is healthy, but she just needs to take things easy.  That was happy news.

But the best part was when Lyndi brought out her little machine that allowed all of us to hear the baby’s heartbeat.  Esta cried.  I cried.  She had never heard her baby’s heartbeat before, even though this is her third child.  Lyndi explained that often the nurses will even turn the ultrasound screen away from the mamas, so they can’t see.  In a culture where knowledge is power, the patient isn’t told much.

10:30 am:  I am back at home, and Everest has arrived.  Unfortunately, while I was gone, all of the power went off.  He can’t fix the water problem without electricity.  He tried to get our generator going, but found a problem with it.  Now we have no water and no power.  Thankfully, now the outside tank has enough water in it that we can draw some out with a bucket.  We lug in enough water for my house helper to wash the dishes and clean the floors.

I take Everest to the hardware store to start hunting down the part for the generator.

12:00 pm:  I meet Aishi for lunch, one of our former students.  She tells me about how college changed her and her dreams for Tanzania. It made my day.  I love her.

2:30 pm:  I bring the kids home from school.  Still no water, still no power.  Everest was not able to find the part for the generator.  But he shows Gil how to get the air out of the pipes once the power comes back on.

4:00 pm:  Power comes back on!  Well, most of it.  We’re still out a phase, but who’s complaining?  Gil manages to get the water flowing back in our pipes.  Well, except that the pressure pump is connected to the phase that is out.  He climbs up the ladder to that pump and rearranges the electrical sockets, and finally, we have water!

6:00 pm:  Gil feeds the kids dinner; I go out to pick up a baby-sitter.  When I get back, power is off again.  It’s getting dark now, so we start to set up the baby-sitter with candles and head lamps.  But wonder of wonders, right before we leave, the power comes back, and this time, all the phases are on.

Gil and I leave for dinner to celebrate our 14th anniversary.

Thankful for this guy who has spent 10 out of 14 years with me in Africa doing this crazy life.  Here’s to the next adventure of the day!

Places This Amazing Really Do Exist

Gil is home from a month of language school on  Zanzibar island.  Hooray!

In between filling his brain with Kiswahili, he took pictures.  Zanzibar is right off the coast of Dar es Salaam, and is an inhabited island of 1 million people.  It is technically part of Tanzania, but very Arab-influenced, very Muslim, and full of history.

It also happens to be one of the most beautiful, intriguing places on earth.

Enjoy his pictures with me….I had a hard time narrowing them down!

That Boy and His Girl

Kyungho was 11 years old when he first came into my life.  He was in fifth grade, and it was my first year teaching at HOPAC.  Then I went on to be his sixth grade teacher too.

He was the class clown, and really only interested in soccer and making people laugh.  But that smile was infectious and he wormed his way into my heart.

Kyungho is Korean in ethnicity and culture and passport, but born and raised in Tanzania.  He attended HOPAC for all thirteen years of his education, which gave him an American accent.  Truly a Third-Culture-Kid, if there ever was one.

Throughout all of high school, Gil was his Bible teacher.  And basketball and soccer coach.  And youth group leader and mentor.

Gil and Kyungho shared a love for Manchester United and photography.  They spent a lot of time together.  And sometime around 10th grade, Kyungho got serious about life.  And God.  And loving people.  And he got really good at all of those things, including his school work.

We had the joy of seeing him graduate in 2009, and Gil had the joy of presenting him with the Christian Character award that day.

Then he went off to Wheaton College in Illinois and studied business.  Most people were probably convinced that he was American, except for the couple of times he instinctively used his Tae Kwon Do and accidentally landed a couple of big football players on the ground.

Kyungho would always come and visit us in the summers.  I can remember the time he sat in our living room a year or so ago and told us about this girl he liked named Shelby.  We cautioned him, Make sure she’s internationally-minded.  Make sure she is not set on living her whole life in the States.  Make sure she understands that you are part Korean and part African and all TCK.



Then he married that girl just a few weeks ago in Michigan.  And just a few days after, she picked up her life and moved with him back to Tanzania.  And she’s learning Korean and wants to attend an African church and she loves that he is international.  She is perfect.

Last weekend, we got to celebrate with them at a reception here in Dar.

Such an amazing, incredible joy, to see this young man loving God and loving people, serving Tanzania and now starting a new life with a girl who loves all of that about him.

HOPAC is a young school–only 20 years old–and it has only graduated 5 classes.  So it’s only now that we are starting to see our alumni, now college graduates, find their way in the world.  How it satisfies our hearts to see so many find their way back here, to the country that raised them, with the goal of making it a better place!

Because there were others there that night too.  One who wants to start a business to help other businesses learn customer service.  One who is working for a TV station here in Dar.  One who still has the goal of becoming Tanzania’s president someday.

And there’s this one who was there that night, but I’ve already told you her story.

I think of all the years we spent investing in these students, and now we have the pleasure of standing back and seeing the fruit.  How great is our God.  

On Piles of Sand and Eating Babies

There’s a story in missionary lore about a family who moved to a deep, dark jungle.  The natives were fascinated by the family’s food, which came in cans.  They soon figured out that the picture on the outside of the can showed what was inside it.  A picture of tomatoes meant there were tomatoes inside; a picture of corn meant there was corn inside.

Imagine the natives’ dismay when they saw cans with pictures of babies on them.

Culture influences everything, doesn’t it?

This week, this video has been showing up a lot on my Facebook feed.

Post by Linda Louise Futter.

It’s two African guys and a pile of sand.  They are shoveling the sand into a wheelbarrow, and then dumping it into another, smaller pile…..about six inches away.

It looks ridiculous.  It looks idiotic.  And the person who took the video, and offers a some narration, obviously thinks it’s one of the dumbest….and therefore, funniest, things she has ever seen. It’s labeled, “Only in Africa.”

It has 374,562 shares and over 13 million views.  So I guess a lot of other people think it is funny as well.

Then, two African friends of mine offered an explanation:

When mixing concrete, and you don’t have a cement mixer, you use the wheelbarrow to measure–this many loads of sand, this many loads of gravel, this much cement.

Oh.  So these guys are not idiots after all.  They are measuring.  OH.

Guess I’m the idiot now.

This realization hit me hard.  It cut to the heart.  It made me wonder, How many times have I done this without realizing it?  Complained, criticized, mocked, (written about!) something in another culture, when really I just needed to look at it with different eyes?

Why do we always assume the worst?  When people do something we don’t understand, why do we always assume that they are ignorant, lazy, or backwards, especially when they come from a culture we perceive as less civilized than our own?

We do this!  We do this!  I do this!

In America, we do this when our immigrant neighbors park their car on their lawn.  Or when they don’t cut their lawn.  Or when they paint their house an atrocious color.  Or when they drive too slow.  Or when their parties are too loud.  Or when they put their garbage cans out too early.  Don’t they know anything???

Okay, so I get that all cultures do this about other cultures.  Just like the natives who assume the missionaries are eating babies.

I’m quite certain that my house helper thinks I am nuts because I ask her to iron the girls’ simple cotton dresses and put them in the closet, whereas their fanciest, frilliest, laciest dresses are stuffed into a basket in the toy room and used for playing.

A friend once reprimanded me because I threw away the chicken neck and after all, that’s the best part.

But the difference is that I don’t feel condescended about these things.  And yet I do feel that often there is quite an air of condescension that comes from those of us who might be called civilized about the practices of those who are uncivilized.

Ugh.  Ouch.  Amy, we don’t use words like civilized and uncivilized anymore.  That was back in the days of imperialism.  This is the 21st Century and we are enlightened.

Except, when I see that 13 million people are laughing at two African guys who are shoveling sand, it does make me wonder how enlightened we really are.

We must ask ourselves, Why do we assume these guys don’t have a reason for what they are doing?  Why do we assume they are just being idiots?

“People usually don’t act randomly or stupidly.  Those from other cultures may think it random or stupid, but from the local person’s perspective, they’re thinking or acting out of a larger framework that makes sense to them….Too often we assume others are foolish or illogical simply because their reasoning is not self-evident to us.” (Duane Elmer, Cross-Cultural Servanthood)

I

am

ashamed.

And I am forced to look deep into my soul and examine what I really think about people who do things differently than me.

Since I am in Africa, determined to help and not hurt, determined not to repeat the mistakes of those who went before me, I must

examine

my

heart.

Root out ethno-centrism.  Put condescension to death.  Look for the good.  Assume the best.  Choose humility.

Of course, sin is there.  Some people really are idiots–in any culture.  I was driving with a Tanzanian friend the other day, and a guy was yelling in the middle of the street.  Yeye ni lewa, my friend muttered.  He is drunk.  And many times, there is inefficiency and ugliness or just plain evil.

But can I first realize that sin is in my heart, and will be coloring my view of how I see things?  Can I stop assuming that my way is the best way, that different does not equal wrong (or stupid, or lazy)?

In humility, consider others better than yourselves.

Even if it means giving the benefit of the doubt to two guys shoveling sand.

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