Tag: Lessons and Musings Page 4 of 21

I Am Forty

On December 1, 2016

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

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)

Gratitude Makes All the Difference

By Amy Medina

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!

You Can Lock Up a Few Evil People, but You Can’t Lock Up Everyone

By Amy Medina

On July 20, 2016

In Other

photo by Gil Medina

Sometimes I click on a link out of morbid curiosity. 9 Much-Needed Reminders That Humans are Inherently Good. Seriously? I thought. I’ve got to read this.

The article assures us that even though terrible things are happening in the world, we can take heart because humans are wired for empathy, kindness, unselfishness, romance, and hugs. And dogs like us, so we must be pretty amazing.

Well, that’s reassuring.

I sigh and think, Only in America. I guarantee that if you ask anyone in Rwanda, Cambodia, Syria, Iraq, Iran, Venezuela, North Korea, or South Sudan if humans are inherently good, they’ll laugh in your face. Except maybe not because they are too busy crying, running for their lives, or languishing in prison.

I know it feels good to believe in the goodness of humanity. And of course, humans are capable of incredible acts of self-sacrifice, courage, and kindness, and it is exemplary to aspire to those ideals. We were made in the image of God, and vestiges of Eden–of who we were meant to be–are still evident in our friendships, our parenting, our service.

But the belief that mankind is inherently good? Really? How many acts of terrorism, genocide, child slavery, albino murders, or rape does our world need to experience before we abandon that belief?

The problem is that we keep thinking that everything would be okay if we could just stop the bad people. We conveniently forget that we are bad people too.

Germans stood by passively while the ashes of six million Jews floated over their heads. Rwandans picked up machetes and hacked to death the neighbors they had lived by for generations. Freed American slaves used their freedom to colonize Liberia and oppress the indigenous people.

That’s them, we think. Not me. I would never do that. Sure, it’s easy to believe I am a decent person when my stomach is full, the electricity is working, and my children are healthy. But all I have to do is look at myself when I’ve lost a night of sleep or have a bad headache, and that beast inside me rises from its slumber and turns me into a person I don’t want to be. I wonder sometimes, what would that beast look like if I lived under the shadow of violence, if I couldn’t feed my children, if terror had scraped away my desire for self-sacrifice? Or what if a powerful but evil leader promised to make all my problems go away? What would I be capable of?

I do believe that it is healing and inspiring to look for the good and the beautiful in people and in this world. It’s there. But believing that somehow the goodness of humanity will one day rise up and save us all? Just not going to happen. You can lock up a few evil people, but you can’t lock up everyone.

We are presented with three options: suicide, hope in humanity, or hope in God. Everyone has that choice, and everyone chooses. There are no other options.

photo by Gil Medina

American Christians, You Might Need to Start Living Like Missionaries

By Amy Medina

On May 5, 2016

In How Americans Think, Living Like a Missionary, Thoughts on Missions

“I’m moving to Canada.”

Personally, Canada would be way too cold for me, but I get the sentiment. However, instead of fleeing for the hills, maybe it’s time for American Christians to start living like missionaries in their own country.

Before you get offended, let me assure you that I am in no way belittling the millions of American Christians who are already living out gospel-centered lives in their communities. As you learned in Sunday School when you were five, we all are missionaries.

But I’m not talking about living as a proclaimer of the gospel, I’m talking about living as if America is not your country. As outsiders. Exiles. As if you are living in a country that is not your own.

This is my life.

I live in a country that is not mine. But I am living in Tanzania as a long-term resident, so I care about what happens here. I prayed during the election. I follow the news. I rejoice with their successes and hurt for their losses. But this is not my country. I don’t expect that my political opinion matters much. I am not surprised if I experience animosity. I don’t expect to have many rights. I do expect to feel like an outsider.

It means that if I see things happening in Tanzania that I don’t like, I’m not going to be angry that my rights have been violated. This country has never existed for my sake. I might be sad, or frustrated, or I might be angry at the injustice others are experiencing. But this country doesn’t owe me anything.

This means that I am here as a learner. It doesn’t mean that I am going to agree with everything I see in this culture, but it does mean that I am going to do everything I can do understand it. I want to understand the worldview. I’m going to filter what I see in this culture through the lens of Scripture. I’m not going to assume that my way of doing things, or my way of thinking about something, is the best. If something bothers me, I will wait to make a judgment until I have considered what the Bible says about it.

I’m not going to hole up in a little community that believes everything the same way I do. I don’t sequester my children from people with different values or religions. My children might end up exposed to things that distress me, but I must trust God’s sovereignty with that. The alternative is to lose our ability to be light in our community.

I’m not looking for what I can get out of this country; I am looking for what I can give. I don’t expect businesses and government agencies to value the same things I do. I might be limited in the kind of work I can do here because my values are different. But that’s okay, because my goal isn’t to get rich, or to be safe, or to build my career. My goal is to further the gospel.

I expect that I am not going to be comfortable all the time. I will have to make sacrifices of comfort and convenience for the sake of God’s work. I realize that I will never be able to own a house here, and I know that there’s always a possibility that I will have to leave with the shirt on my back. I try hard to loosen my grip on my possessions, knowing that my stay here is temporary.

Above all else, I am going to do my best to love the people around me. That doesn’t mean that I unconditionally accept, or approve of, everything they are doing. Love and acceptance are not always synonymous. However, love is patient, kind, humble, generous, and long-suffering. I can love people in the way I spend my time, in the way I spend my money, in the way I engage discussion, and in the attitude I take towards culture. Even if people disagree with what I think, I want my reputation to always be as someone who loves.

All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance, admitting that they were foreigners and strangers on earth…..Instead, they were longing for a better country–a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them. (Hebrews 11)

When Her House Was Scheduled for Demolition

By Amy Medina

On April 19, 2016

In Other

Lucy came home one day in January to find a large red X spray painted on her house.

This was not the work of some teenage hoodlum. This was the work of government officials. And the red X meant that her house was marked for demolition.

Because of a lack of city planning for the last 16 years, the new government is trying to make up for lost time. Hundreds of thousands of people in this city of 5 million are living on land that was never designated for residential use. Many of them are squatters. However, many others, like Lucy and her husband, bought their land legally, fair and square. Maybe it should never have been sold to them in the first place. But that wasn’t their fault.

Lucy cooking for us at her house

Lucy’s house is on a flood plain. She knew that when they bought it, and they have ingeniously built their house to avoid becoming water-logged. But according to the government, the land is uninhabitable, and needed to be cleared of residents.

Late last year, that’s exactly what happened in other parts of the city. Thousands of houses were knocked down. The people who lived there don’t have anywhere else to go, so many of them are now living in shacks on top of the wreckage. Lucy told me that many of them committed suicide.

So on that fateful day in January when her house was marked, Lucy knew this was not an empty threat. She knew that her house could be imminently be knocked down. All the renters in the area immediately moved out. The owners stayed. For many of them, their house was all they had.

For Lucy and her family, this house represented years of hard work and laborious saving. In a country where it’s difficult to get a loan or a mortgage, she and her husband bought their land with cash. Then they scrimped and saved again, and they built three rooms and an outhouse. Even though Lucy cooks outside and buys water by the bucket from a neighbor, they are doing pretty well for themselves. Just a few weeks before the red X appeared, they paid to have electricity installed.

Demolition would mean the loss of everything they have worked for. And here, there are no safety nets, no insurance plans, no welfare programs.

When Lucy first told me about the red X, a cloud covered her normally sunny personality. The stress had kept her from sleeping or eating well. I had no words. What could I possibly say? I was weighed down by the utter unfairness of life.

I saw Lucy again a couple of weeks later. She told me that hundreds of land owners from her neighborhood had made an appeal to the court. The court promised to let them know in two months if they would get to keep their houses. For two months, anxiety would hang over the entire area.

Lucy’s demeanor, however, had entirely changed. She told me with confidence, We will be okay. We are young. (Lucy is mid-30’s and her husband 10 years older.) We are strong. If we have to start over again, we can do it. God will take care of us. We are trusting him.

Once again, for entirely different reasons, I was without words.

During those two months, Lucy’s faith did not waver. She told me that she resonated with the story of Job. God gives and God takes away, she said. We will bless the name of the Lord, no matter what happens.

Lucy had already been well acquainted with suffering. Her childhood was marked by loss. Her first pregnancy was twins, and she lost them at seven months gestation because of a doctor’s error. But when she decided to follow Jesus, there was no turning back. And her life has reflected him since then, in how she loves her children, in how she loves her neighbors (she always adds extra rice to the pot to feed a few extra kids), her work ethic, and her joy.

My kids and Lucy’s girls

And now, God is evident in her faith. Even in the likely prospect of losing everything, her faith in her God did not waver. And as I listened to her and saw her joy, I couldn’t help but wonder if my savings account and my health insurance are keeping me from something I never knew I was missing.

As promised, at the end of March, the court gave their answer: They decided to reverse the decision. The houses would not be knocked down.

I rejoiced with Lucy when I heard the news, but I couldn’t help but notice that she didn’t act very differently than she already had been. She already had her joy; so this good news was just icing on the cake.

A.M. Royden wrote, Learn to hold loosely all that is not eternal. Colossians says, Set your eyes on things above, not on earthly things.

Lucy helps me see that I still have a long way to go.

Alyssa and I with Lucy on a visit to her house