Tag: Lessons and Musings Page 10 of 21

Sometimes I stand in the street surrounded by spring beauty and orderly houses and I know I am safe, and the only thing I have to worry about is keeping Lily’s hand firmly in mine.  It feels like this is the only reality and this must be how the whole world must be.

But I look up in the sky and I think about all those 7 billion people standing under the same sky, yet living in such different worlds.

And am I thinking these days about those in North Korea, who are also made of the same flesh and blood and bones that I am made of, and looking up at the same sky, and yet living in a world I cannot even comprehend.

I readthis book a couple of weeks ago:

I learned that in one small country, all 25 million people are living as prisoners, starving and hopeless and beaten and frightened and desperate.

And I stand in my middle-class neighborhood and I am struck by the absolute absurdity of how it is even possible that those of us crammed into this tiny planet and looking up at the same sky can live in such vastly different worlds.

We know it’s there.  We know it’s there, right?  We know that people are suffering, we know that we are the richest people in the world, and we know that as followers of Christ, we are supposed to care.  We are supposed to care, and we are supposed to do something, and we do care, but we don’t know what something we are supposed to do.

So we wring our hands and we share articles on Facebook and we get all teary when we read them.   And maybe we’ll send money or shoes or a Christmas shoebox.  But then we go back to our TV shows and washing the dishes and cutting out coupons and going to the gym because what else can we do?  And sometimes we want to forget because thinking about suffering people is just too hard.

But as I thought about North Korea this week I was forced to consider:

Do I care?

and

Do I believe in the power of God?

If I answer yes to those questions then the next logical question has to be:

Then why am I not praying more?

And I started thinking about the way that I pray and how I pray and how much time I pray about which subjects.  And I started thinking about all the prayer meetings I have been to and all the things that we pray about in them.

Please pray for my husband’s safety on his business trip.

And another North Korean Christian is dragged off to be tortured for owning a Bible.

Pray that God would heal us from these colds that are running through our family.

And a 14-year-old sex slave in Thailand spends another night chained to a bed, being raped by 40 men.

Pray that escrow closes on our house.

And Saeed Abedini  is beaten in prison in Iran.

Pray that my daughter gets into this college.

And a baby is aborted for having Downs Syndrome.

Pray that God would heal my back pain.

And a South Sudanese family is once again forced to run while their village is bombed.  

Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.

Of course, we are to pray about colds and escrow and back pain.  Of course.  He numbers the hairs on our heads; He cares about the details of our lives; nothing is too small or too big for Him.

But may we look up into the sky and think about all the people under it, people who are living so very differently than our neat, orderly neighborhoods.

Do I care?  

Do I believe in the power of God?

Resolve with me, my friends, to pray for the world like their lives and souls depend on it.

Because they do.

Photo credits: Gil Medina

In Tanzania, women don’t have photo shoots of their pregnant
bellies. 

They don’t name their children before they are born. 

They don’t have pregnancy-announcement parties or even
announcements on Facebook. 

Usually, they don’t actually even talk about their pregnancies.  Strangers don’t ask them how many weeks they
are.  Family members don’t usually ask
either.  They don’t talk about their pregnancies with their children. 

When the baby is born, it’s not often named for days or even
weeks. 

Toddlers, sometimes, are ignored.  Other than their basic needs, ignored.  Sometimes, they are even named Not Wanted or Undesirable.

As an objective observer, someone from the West might assume
that Tanzanians don’t care about babies or children, that they are not
important to them. 

And then you read the statistics: 

In Tanzania, there are 45 infant deaths per 1000 live births.

In the U.S., there are 5.

In Tanzania, there are 460 maternal deaths (mothers who die during pregnancy or childbirth) per 100,000 live births.

In the U.S., there are 21.

In Tanzania, 54 children out of 1000 won’t make it to their 5th birthday.  

In the U.S., 7 won’t make it.  

I spent this week in Washington with my wonderful friend
Janelle.  Janelle is mom to a little guy
named Jeremiah, who was dearly wanted and dearly loved.  Janelle and her husband Rudy live in Central
Asia, but while they were visiting Thailand two months ago, their beautiful
Jeremiah died from a tragic accident.  I
wrote about it here.

Janelle and Rudy are in the States now for a few months,
regrouping after their loss and awaiting the birth of their next child.  It was my privilege to spend time with her
these last few days. 

How does a mother bear the loss of a child?  The one she carried next to her heart, the
one born through pain, the one who is knit with her soul?  How does she bury the child, the dreams, the
expectations of who he would have become? 
How does she get up in the morning and allow life to continue? 

I wonder if this is why Tanzanians don’t talk about
pregnancy, don’t wait in anticipation, don’t name their child before he is
born.  Perhaps they wait in dread instead
of hope.  They know too many children who
have died, too many mothers who have died. 
They hold their breath and hope for the best, but are not surprised at
the worst.  Is that why? 

Or is it also their animistic worldview, the idea that the
spirits are in charge but they are evil, that they must appease them to keep
them at bay?  So the mamas must keep the
attention off of their pregnant bellies, and away from their precious little ones.  They ignore their bellies, and ignore their
little ones, or give them an ugly name….in hopes that the spirits, too, will ignore them.  Could it be the bond of
love….and the fear of loss, that causes some to act like they don’t care? 

How does a mother bear the loss of a child?  As one who is rooted firmly and completely in
Christ, Janelle taught me this these days. 
The pain is excruciating, and yet she has hope.  The despair seeks to overwhelm her, and yet
she presses on.  She knows who she
belongs to.  She knows who Jeremiah
belongs to.  She knows where he is.  Her eyes bear light and her voice bears
confidence, despite her exhaustion and never-ending sorrow.

I watched her minister to others, to me! in the mist of her pain.  She has helped me not to fear.  She has
deepened my trust in my Savior, as she has given testimony of His power.  She is a beacon of God’s grace. 

Oh, that the dear mamas in Tanzania would be granted the
medical care and education they need so that they are able to celebrate the
lives growing inside of them, that they can be filled with anticipation instead
of fear. 

But even more, that they would come to know the hope and
grace that God has granted my friend Janelle. 

We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed….

So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal. (2 Corinthians 4)

I used to be anti-American.  A lot of Third-Culture Kids are.  In my twelve-year-old mind, everything about America was shallow, boring, and brutish, while everything about Liberia was beautiful, interesting, and perfect.

Such are the black-and-white perspectives of youth.

I have grown up since then, and now I have spent half my life in America and the other half in Africa.  I am not anti-American anymore.

I know it might seem that way sometimes.  When I wrote the post about the lack of people willing to jump my car, I know it might have seemed that I was idealizing Tanzania.

I was frustrated that day.  And though every single thing I wrote was the truth, I did know, in the back of my mind, that it wasn’t everything that could have been said.

Because the truth is, that even though I would much rather have my car break down in Tanzania, I would never

never

never

want to be in a serious accident in Tanzania.  It is, in fact, one of my biggest worries about living there.

I helped with New Teacher Orientation at HOPAC.  Many times, I have told new, idealistic, bright-eyed teachers that if they ever hit a person with their car, even if it was 100% the fault of the pedestrian, to go against their strongest instinct and

never

never

never

stop and help the person.  Instead, they should drive directly to the nearest police station and report it.

Because stopping to help automatically insinuates guilt.

And in situations like this, mob justice takes over more often than not.  Drivers are beat up.  Or killed.  We have seen it happen.

The truth is, that even though Tanzanians are always happy to help with a dead battery or flat tire, if there is a serious accident, they are more likely to rob me than help me.

So which culture do I like better?  Which culture is better?  Is it even a valid question?

Tanzanians are some of the most generous people I have ever met.  Once, we were at a pastor’s house after church.  He bought sodas for Gil and I while his children looked on.  We found out the next day that he had no money to feed his children.  Instead, he had bought sodas for people who already had a whole case of them in their kitchen.

In America, charitable giving makes up only 2% of the GDP.

However, Americans are incredibly ambitious and optimistic.  They have a great spirit of entrepreneurship and innovation.

Africans often have a fatalistic attitude.  We are poor; we will always be poor.  That, plus the expectation of extreme generosity within their communities, means that they have a very difficult time getting out of poverty. (If someone ever has money, he is expected to share it with anyone who needs it, which means that no one ever gets ahead.)

Africans are extremely resourceful with what they do have.  For example, I have never seen so many things created out of old tires.

Americans produce a quarter of the world’s trash(while only making up 5% of the world’s population).

Americans value integrity, accountability, and honesty.  Africans do not.  Corruption is rampant; I cannot tell you how many times we have been asked for bribes–by policemen, by customs officials, by whoever.  [I have never knowingly paid a bribe, not even when I had to spend a whole day driving to three police stations so that I could pay a traffic ticket legally….and the policemen laughed at me for trying so hard.]

Tanzanians prioritize people over schedules, which means they have strong relationships but are often late to events.

Americans prioritize schedules over people, which means they are usually more productive.

Tanzanians value politeness and respect for the elderly.  Americans value efficiency and customer service.

Tanzanians are community-oriented.  Americans are isolated.

In Tanzania, we worry about being robbed by a gang invasion.  In America, we worry about our children being shot at school.

Americans value comfort and convenience and will fight hard to get it.  Tanzanians value peace and will put up with a lot of discomfort to maintain it.

I could go on.

Neither is better.  Neither is worse.  Both have something to learn from each other.

But it makes sense, doesn’t it?

Since all mankind is created in the image of God, then we reflect His image when our cultures reflect great good and great beauty.  Just in different ways.

But we are also all desperately fallen, which is why all cultures also contain great evil.  Just in different ways.

Which is why we all need Jesus.

 P.S.  Please keep in mind that I am most certainly speaking in generalities.  Not everyone in either culture fits these descriptions.