Tag: Home Assignment Page 7 of 15

New

On October 4, 2013

A habit is defined as

A recurrent, often unconscious pattern of behavior that is acquired through frequent repetition

When you live in a place long enough, you form habits. They are comforting. Your body goes through the motions even when you are sleepy; your car goes into autopilot; you don’t have to use so much mental energy when going through your day. Habits can be a really good thing.

In Tanzania, I used to spend a lot of time helping new folks get oriented. I would tell them, “It feels so strange…but don’t worry, give yourself six months to get used to things.”

It’s funny, now, being on the other side of that. I am American, yet my habits are still Tanzanian.

I constantly forget what side of the car to get into. A couple times, I actually have gotten into the right side of the car, ready to drive, and sit there confused for a few moments before I start feeling stupid. I keep turning on the windshield wipers instead of the ~~indicator~~…oops, we’re in America, that would be the turn signal. Driving takes total concentration as I keep reminding myself, Stay on the right side of the road. I drove to Ikea by myself the other day and was extremely proud of myself.

I was incredibly excited to go to Costco to stock my kitchen. In the last eight years, every time we’ve been home, I’ve gone to Costco with my Mom and purchased the following: cold medicine, Parmesan cheese, deodorant, and taco seasoning. Sometimes chocolate chips, depending on how we were doing with space. I always checked out the weight of everything I bought. It’s how world travelers think.

So anyway, the thought of going to Costco to buy whatever I wanted was pretty exciting. But once I was there, I didn’t really know what to do. The first things I put into my cart were a large bag of rice and a large bag of beans. You mean, those are not the first things you buy at Costco? Old habits die hard.

The first few times I went shopping, I kept forgetting to buy dishwasher detergent. I sort of forgot I had a dishwasher. When I finally remembered and started my first load, I felt a huge sense of accomplishment.

When I’m in store, I mentally walk through the steps. Get out your wallet. Slide your card. Sign the little thingy.

I feel clumsy and awkward. I feel like if I looked international, people would understand my awkwardness, but I look like I belong here, so I should know what I am doing. If I happen to mention to strangers that we just moved here from Tanzania, I might as well said Mars.

I praise God that I am living in a place I remember, that hasn’t changed all that much in 8 years. That helps a lot. It’s all coming back to me, as if waking up from a long sleep.

And I am thankful for the chance to remember what it feels like to be new. Pray for your missionary friends today, who are adjusting to a new place somewhere out in the world. And go out and hug that immigrant woman who just moved in down the street. Show her how to work her dishwasher.

So….What are you doing this year?

By Amy Medina

On October 2, 2013

In Other

We’re getting that question a lot. Here’s the answer.

We are not on vacation.

We are not even on sabbatical.

When I was a kid, it used to be called furlough. Most mission agencies don’t call it that anymore because furlough means a leave of absence or vacation. Which it is not.

Instead, we call it Home Assignment.

First of all: Why are we staying a whole year?

Our mission requires us to be in the States about 20% of our time. In the past 8 years, we’ve been in the States approximately 7 months. So we’re kind of making up for lost time. There was never a good time to take a Home Assignment while we were at HOPAC. Since we are between ministries now, it works.

Secondly: What exactly are you doing if you are not on vacation?

Let me start by saying this:

We all talk about the Body of Christ. But as missionaries, we are more keenly aware of our need for it than we would otherwise recognize.

We cannot do what we do without the Body of Christ.

I’m not just stating that figuratively. We cannot.

We are an extension of the Church in America, and specifically five congregations in California, so we need to be connected to them.

That does not easily happen when we are 10,000 miles away. It’s been 8 years. A lot has changed in your lives; a lot has changed in our lives. So many people are new in these churches that they don’t even know who we are.

So it is important that we spend time in the States so that we can continue that personal connection. Because if we don’t have the Body behind us, there is no use in us going.

So what are we doing this year?

Sharing our vision for ministry with any small group or individuals who want to hear about it.

Preaching in churches (well, Gil is, anyway!)

Serving our supporting churches in any way possible. We will especially be helping out at our sending church here in So. Cal. We told FCC to consider us as part of their staff…and put us to work!

And most importantly, doing everything we can to make connections with people. We will be having people over for dinner once or twice a week; we will be attending whatever social activities we can manage at our five supporting churches….for example, this month Gil is attending two different Men’s Retreats at two different churches!

We were offered a rent-free, full-sized house about an hour away from here that we could have lived in all year. We turned it down for two-bedroom apartment, because we wanted to be close to FCC. If the whole point of us being here is to connect with the Church, then we’d better be nearby.

We’ll be doing other things as well–Gil will be studying and preparing curriculum for his upcoming new ministry, we all will be deepening our level of Swahili, and we will be spending lots of time with grandparents.

So if you attend one of our supporting churches, I hope you’ll see us a lot. If we invite you over for dinner, it’s because we want to get to know you (again). We love you; we need you. And we hope that we will live up to our calling to be your extension of the Body of Christ in Tanzania.

Cecilie

By Amy Medina

On August 12, 2013

In Other

Cecilie (pronounced Cecilia) was a student at HOPAC from 5th grade through 9th grade. Her parents were missionaries from Denmark.

Like many students, she became a part of our family. Gil was her Bible teacher, she was a part of our youth group, she baby-sat our kids, she attended our youth camps. We love her.

Cecilie and Josiah–probably 2008

Cecilie went back to Denmark after 9th grade. That was three years ago, and she just recently graduated from high school. She wants to be an elementary teacher and maybe even come back to HOPAC.

Cecilie’s parents just happened to be on vacation in the States this year, so when she heard that we would be here, she added an extra week onto her trip, just to come visit us in California.

Cecilie was always a pretty neat girl back when we knew her: hard-working, determined, a love for Jesus, great with kids, and one of the most kind and thoughtful teenagers we’ve ever known. Now…she’s even more awesome–self-confident and sure of who she is and what she stands for. We are so proud of her, and it was amazing to spend a week with her. It was also a whole lot of fun to show her the Bay Area.

Jelly Belly Factory

Monterey Bay Aquarium (one of my most favorite places on earth)

San Francisco

Sweet Cecilie, you have no idea what a blessing it was to see you again. To see you as such an amazing young adult, with a future focused on serving God and others, brings us incredible joy.

To God be the glory!

#14

By Amy Medina

On August 9, 2013

In Other

The story starts with Apartment #9.

It was 1998. I had just graduated from college, and was working on my teaching credential. I moved into #9 with three friends. The apartment complex was a logical choice: affordable, friendly, and small–only about 40 units total. All the units faced an inner courtyard with green grass and a pool.

I lived in #9 for two years. Most of our furniture had been found on the side of the road. Autumn and I stood on the couch, singing at the top of our lungs into wooden spoons. Sofia and I spread our student teaching materials all over the floor. The guys in an apartment on the second floor started a prank war with us, and one day we came home to the shower full of popcorn.

Then this friend of mine named Gil started hanging out at our apartment, all the time. Autumn and Becca would give me knowing smiles every time he left.

Gil and I got married in 2000. We moved across the courtyard into #14. It was a two-bedroom, just happened to be the largest unit in the complex, and was way too big for a young married couple, but we took it anyway because we didn’t want to leave the complex. We spent our first year there. I filled the cupboards with my wedding gifts and burned the first meal I cooked for guests.

After two years in Tanzania, we were back in California so that Gil could finish seminary. This time we took a one bedroom in the same complex, #37.

I hosted chocolate fondue parties for college girls in that apartment, Gil worked on his seminary papers, and I watched with longing all the moms with little kids running around outside.

Fast forward 8 more years in Tanzania.

Months and months ago, I started thinking about where we would live on our home assignment.

I knew we would only be able to afford a two-bedroom.

I knew I wanted to live in the same area of our favorite complex, because it is walkable and ethnically diverse and very close to our church.

I thought about how great it would be if we could even live in that same complex where we had already spent 5 years.

And whenever I imagined our life in the States, I thought about how perfect it would be to live in #14 again. It was huge. Even with just two bedrooms, we would have plenty of room. The front room was big enough for large groups,which is unusual for an apartment. And the complex was kid-friendly and small.

Then I thought, Come on, Amy. You can’t get your hopes up. What really would be the chances that specific apartment will be available?

But deep inside my heart, I prayed tiny little secret prayers. Could we please have #14, God? I hoped, but I didn’t really believe it could happen.

In the past couple of months, I’ve done a bunch of on-line apartment searching. I’ve been in touch with a few different managers, including the one from our favorite complex.

Last week I wrote to her again, telling her that we now knew that we would need an apartment at the end of September, and would she please let me know if any two-bedrooms come available for that time?

She wrote back immediately and said she had just received notice for a two bedroom coming available the middle of September.

Number 14.

Were we interested?

Number 14. Available. At the exact time we would need it.

My heart started thumping and my hands started shaking.

Really, God? Really and truly?

She had two other people interested. We applied immediately and held our breath.

And now it will be ours.

We will return from our six week road trip at the end of September (and three months living out of suitcases), and move into #14. Other than my parents’ house, it’s the only place in America that actually remotely feels like home to me.

He knows the number of hairs on my head; He knows my deepest longings. And though His will often supersedes my desires and I must trust Him with that, sometimes He delights in giving us exactly what we want.

Tahoe

By Amy Medina

On August 3, 2013

In Other

Okay, so, I hate camping.

It’s kind of funny though; when I told people that we would be camping, a few of them responded with Oh, but well, you are used to that.

Oh my goodness.

I seriously wonder sometimes if people imagine me hunting my own antelope with a bow and arrow, putting the meat into a pot over an open fire, turning the skin into clothes and then wearing them as I stir my antelope stew….

So let’s just get one thing clear: My life in Tanzania is not like camping.

In Tanzania, I have a kitchen, walls and a floor, and most importantly, an indoor bathroom. Sure, there are many people in Africa who would consider the American camping experience to be downright luxurious, with the little gas stoves and water sources just a few feet away, but rest assured, that’s not how everyone lives there–myself included.

Ahem. Anyway. Back to the hating camping part.

The church where I grew up has a Family Camp at Lake Tahoe every year. I went many times as a kid and loved it. But now, eh, not so much. Something to do with the dirt and cold and lack of showers and permeating smell of smoke. And did I mention dirt? Dirt.

But Gil kept saying, We should go, Amy. Sigh…yeah, I knew he was right. After all, the whole point of this Home Assignment is to reconnect with people, and what better way to reconnect than with lots and lots of dirt? Plus, I read somewhere that the closest families are those that camp together. Oh, the guilt of parenting! So we went.

On the first day, the elevation caused the mustard to explode all over Grace. Seriously, all over. I was freezing at night and curled up like a pill bug in my sleeping bag on the mattress which kept losing air, willing my body to please, please, stop producing urine. And oh yes, there was dirt. But don’t worry, the smoky smell covered up all the B.O.

But. There was also the glorious open night sky and the perfectly crystal lake, the smell of the mountain trees which I had forgotten over so many years away and the joy of watching my kids ride bikes hour after hour–just as I did in the exact same place, so many years ago.

Most importantly, there were the great conversations with old friends, with so many who have loved us and supported us and looked after us year after year…..some who have known me since I too was a child at Family Camp.

The hugs and the laughter and the new memories….

….and I was so, so glad that we went.