From 10 to 105 (This Is Why We Are Here)

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On December 7, 2016

In Other

Freddy was one of Reach Tanzania’s students in 2014 and 2015.  Recently, he stopped by our training center and shared this story:


In 2015, we started having family sessions of prayers in the evening. So we used to praise and worship God, and some of our neighbors started hearing how we were praising God and worshiping Him.  So they started joining us for prayers and worshiping the Lord.  And slowly I started telling them about the Good News about Jesus.  And [I used] some methods I have learned about here at Reach Tanzania.  For example, from the evangelism [class].  They accepted Christ and they offered their lives to Jesus.  So I taught them those methods that I have learned here at Reach Tanzania and they started applying them to the places that they were going.  And they won a lot of souls.  So from a number of 10 people now we have grown to a number of 105, to this time.  In a year.  So I thank God for this school.  


This is why we are here.  This is why we keep staying.  

Gil and some of our students recently made this 4 minute video to recruit new students for next year.  Freddy tells his story in it, and you’ll hear from some others as well.  (If you are reading in a feed, you will need to click through to the post.)

And if you don’t have time for that one, this one is only 1 minute, and I promise it will make your day.  This is what our students do…all the time…spontaneously….just because they love Jesus and love to sing.  

Don’t Ask Me About My Christmas Traditions

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On December 3, 2016

In Other

beach-2

My first Christmas on African soil was when I had just turned six years old.  We had arrived in Liberia only three weeks earlier, and my mom was in the throes of major culture shock.  My parents had shipped over a few presents, but nothing else for Christmas.  My mom managed to find a two-foot plastic tree at a store, and decorated it with tiny candy canes wrapped in cellophane.  After just a few days, the candy canes turned into puddles inside their wrappers.  My mom says it was the most depressing Christmas she’s ever had. 

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Our first Liberian Christmas: My brother and I with our punching balloons, and my sad Mama.

I remember that Christmas, but the funny thing is, I thought it was great.  I remember being concerned how Santa would get into our house without a chimney, but my parents assured me they would leave the door unlocked.  We had a tree, we were together, and it was Christmas.  I was happy.

Fast forward 25 years to when I started raising my own TCKs in tropical Africa.  I was a young mother around the time when social media was really taking off, and I felt suffocated under the expectations of creating a magical Christmas for my children, complete with handmade crafts and meaningful traditions. Not only that, but I was quite literally suffocating in a southern hemisphere tropical climate.  There weren’t going to be any pine trees or snuggling up in pajamas while going out to see Christmas lights.  In fact, the only festivity to be found in our city was a five-foot high, mechanical, singing Santa in our grocery store that terrified my two-year-old and made her run away screaming.

We can tell ourselves that “Jesus is the reason for the season”—and even believe it—but we all know that we have expectations for Christmas to be more than that.  The traditions, the parties, the “magic,” even the cold weather, all are wrapped up in what we dream Christmas is “supposed” to be.

Ever wonder what Christmas is like for those of us living in a different country?  Click hereto read the rest of this post over at A Life Overseas.

I Am Forty

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On December 1, 2016

In Other

I was born on December 1st, 1976, while my Dad was stationed in snowy New Jersey at an army base.  So today, I am forty years old.

It does sound strange.  It does sound old.  Because anyone who is not yet forty doesn’t actually believe they ever will be.  But I must admit, I really am not dreading being forty.

My favorite piece of furniture in my house is my hard-wood dining table, which we had custom made ten years ago (back when custom-made furniture was the only kind of furniture you could find in Dar es Salaam).  At the time, I thought it was huge because it seated eight.  Now I wish it was bigger.  But I love that table.

When Josiah was a baby, sitting in his high chair, he could reach the table.  Once when I was out of sight, he took his metal spoon and banged as hard as he could on that table, leaving a bunch of dents and scratches.

Oh, how I mourned over those dents and scratches on my beautiful perfect table.

But then, time passed, as it always does.  And now I look across the table at my big nine-year-old Josiah, and think about how quickly time did pass.  And I look at those dents and scratches, which have darkened into the wood, and I am so thankful for that precious memory of my sweet baby.  And I think my table has become even more beautiful because of it.

Why do we fear age so much?  Why do we cover up our wrinkles and sags, as if they were something to be ashamed of…instead of beautiful marks of sweet memories, hard work, and wisdom?

I have absolutely no desire to return to younger days.  I think back to my teens and twenties, to all that self-conscientious and confusion, to my introversion which prevented me from having a normal conversation with most people my own age.  I think about early marriage, early child-rearing, and I have no desire to go back to the multitude of mistakes, the unnecessary anxiety, the selfishness that had to be rooted out.  Of course, my life is (and never will be) perfect, but I certainly have a whole lot more peace and confidence than I ever did when I was young.

Tanzania, like many other non-western countries, celebrates this much better than my own culture.  In Tanzania, age is to be honored and cherished.  There’s a special greeting in Swahili that you are expected to use with anyone who is significantly older than you, and calling someone mzee (old person) is a way to show respect, even if the person isn’t actually very old.

Why on earth does our culture idolize youth?  If age brings on more wisdom and more understanding, then it should be honored.  And like my hard-wood table, if I bear the marks of growing older, then so be it.  Bring on the years.

Since I’m feeling nostalgic today, I’m posting pictures of milestones in my life.  It’s fun to think that many of you reading this today knew me at these various stages.  I wish there was a way to honor all of you who have impacted my life.

OnELWA Beach, Liberia
Baptized at age 12 in Liberia
Ethiopia, on the night before I left for boarding school in 9th grade
Back in California, my favorite part of high school was theater.  This is Ouiser Boudreaux in “Steel Magnolias.”  Will I look like this when I am 60?
High school graduation (1994) with my best friend Anne 
Paul and I had this picture taken as a gift(!) for our parents.  This is not a milestone picture, but I had to include it because it’s so awesome.

The paint.  The dog.  

Graduation from The Master’s College, 1998
My first class
Faith Blast Kids’ Club taught me so much about cross-cultural ministry, loving people, and leadership.  Gil and I co-led it for four years.  We barely knew each other when we started, but eventually it led to…..
Our wedding on October 7, 2000
Making our home in Tanzania (and no, we actually don’t live anywhere near elephants, but it’s just such a cool picture.)
My first classat Haven of Peace Academy
Bringing home Baby #1
Baby #2
#3
#4

The grace of our Lord was poured out on me abundantly, 

along with the faith and love that are in Christ Jesus.  

(I Timothy 1:14)

Waiting on the God Who Acts

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On November 27, 2016

In Adoption

I was washing dishes, and Grace was practicing her Bible verses for class.

She rattled off Isaiah 64:4:  Since ancient times no one has heard, no ear has perceived, no eye has seen any God besides you, who acts on behalf of those who wait for him.

And tears sprang to my eyes.

Suddenly I was taken back to ten years ago.  Gil and I had been through a miscarriage and two failed adoption attempts.  We were desperate to be parents.  We had been matched with Grace in May of 2006, and we had flown up to Northern Tanzania in June to meet her.  At that point, we thought it would be just a matter of days before we would be able to bring her home.

But the days stretched into weeks which stretched into months.  I flew up to Moshi three more times to try to get things moving.  We believed the problem was with an evil social worker who was preventing the adoption, but now that I understand more about Tanzanian culture and how adoption works here, I know that the delay had just as much to do with the mistakes of the orphanage.

We were asked if we wanted to just give up on this baby and choose another.  But we were committed to the child who would become Grace Medina.  As long as it took.

All of our adoptions have had snags and disappointments, but the months of waiting for Grace were the hardest.  I wasn’t just waiting for another child, I was waiting to become a mother.  I closed the door of her half-decorated nursery and couldn’t bring myself to go in.

One day in late October, I was asked to substitute teach for fifth grade at HOPAC at the last minute.  I quickly scanned over lesson plans as the kids came into the room.  The first lesson of the day was in Bible.  And it was on Isaiah 64:4.

I remember very clearly that as the students and I discussed the implications of God’s sovereignty in waiting patiently for Him to act, that I felt like I was talking to myself as the words came out of my mouth.  I was waiting for Him, and He would act.  I could have that confidence. I left the classroom that day with a new perspective.

Just two days later, we received the letter that allowed us to go pick up Grace.  And that beautiful promise was ingrained on my heart.

In the ten years since then, the Bible curriculum at HOPAC has not changed.  So when Grace–now in fifth grade and almost 11 years old–stood in my kitchen and recited the verse that quite literally is entwined in her story, it was a holy moment.

That night, I told Grace this story of that verse.  I did wait on Him.  And He did act.  And no one has ever seen or heard of a God like Him.

Gratitude Makes All the Difference

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On November 23, 2016

In Other

It’s been one of those days.

It actually started yesterday, when my healthy young laptop suddenly decided to stop working.  Since I am heavily dependent on my computer, I knew that I would need to take it in immediately today to get fixed.

Unfortunately, there is only one computer store in the entire city of Dar es Salaam that will honor my HP warranty.  And even though it is less than 10 miles away, I dreaded the drive.  I knew it would take at least an hour each way, which wasn’t really how I planned to spend my Wednesday.

It was raining this morning.  That usually means torture for anyone who wants to drive to town, but I assured myself that we are only in the “short rains” rainy season and these days it only rains for fifteen minutes at a time.  About a hour after I left the house, I knew I was in trouble.  This wasn’t just rain, this was African Rain.  The voice from Google Maps politely told me, You will reach your destination in one minute.  Uh, I don’t think so, I said back to her (not so politely).  Your satellite up there doesn’t see that the road in front of me is actually now a river.  

So I turned around and went up and down and back again and got to my destination a different way.  I trudged through the rain, up the stairs to the computer shop…..only to see a note on the door telling me they had moved….to another location deep downtown.

Two hours after I left my house, I finally reached my destination.  It was in a new mall I hadn’t visited before.  Because of the rain, the power was off, and I asked three people for directions before I finally found the shop in a very dark, back corner.

I then sat. Without power, they couldn’t register my computer or look up the warranty.  A half hour later, the power finally came on.  Not looking forward to making this journey again, I hopefully asked the receptionist, Can’t I just wait for the technician to just…fix it right now?   She stared at me unblinking.  No, we’ll have to order the part from the Netherlands. It will take two or three weeks.   

Yeah, that’s what I figured.  Sigh.

So I trudged down the stairs and back to my car to begin the arduous trip back home.  I fretted about the few (thankfully not many) documents that were now lost in cyber space and would have to be re-created.  I inwardly whined about the inconvenience of the rain and the traffic and computer shop moving locations.

I was tempted to justify throwing myself a nice big pity party.  But being the day before Thanksgiving, I would have felt guilty.  You know, like being grumpy on Christmas.

So on the long drive home, I looked for ways to be thankful.  It really wasn’t hard.  I’m thankful that I’m in this car, instead of in that wheelchair, begging for money in the rain.  Or trying to sell soggy boxes of Kleenex to people driving by.  I’m thankful that I own a computer, for the warranty, and that I can use Gil’s until I get it back.  That I can come home to a house that doesn’t leak, and I have no fear of it flooding….unlike thousands of others in this city.

Then I came home, opened Gil’s computer, and discovered a message from our lawyer saying that the judge has finally released the paperwork necessary to apply for Johnny’s passport.

In the end, it really was one of those days.  You know, the kind I’m really thankful for.

Since Thursday is a normal working day here, we celebrated Thanksgiving on Sunday with our Reach Global family.  And the best part?  The Edwards family finally made it to Tanzania just two days before–and 100% financially supported.  Thanks, American Church!  

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