As you read over what I have written to you, you’ll be able to see into the mystery of Christ.
None of our ancestors understood this. Only in our time has it been made clear by God’s Spirit through His holy apostles & prophets of this new order. The mystery is that people who have never heard of GOD and those who have heard of Him all their lives (what I’ve been calling outsiders & insiders) stand on the same ground before GOD. They get the same offer, same help, same promises in Christ Jesus. The Message is accessible and welcoming to everyone, across the board.
- Eph 3:4-6 The Message
Simple Extravagance
Rest
I’m currently in-between adventures. It should be a place that feels wild and free, but truly, oftentimes I wrestle with feeling unproductive, purposeless. So I ask God, what shall I do? Again and again I hear, “rest.”
“Rest.”
“Rest.”
So, feeling reluctant, I struggled through what that looks like. Naps? Reading? Laying in the sun? Rejuvenating time with friends? I’ve done all of the above. How sweet of Jesus that I have this time. Sadly though, small guilt tugged at me, like a little one pulling on a shirt sleeve. I thought surely I was doing something wrong.
This morning, Holy Spirit connected this message of rest to a parable I’ve camped out in before - that one where Jesus naps in the boat while the disciples panic about the storm. There were a whole lot of should’s, could’s and need to’s running through their minds, but Jesus was wholly restful. His heart, mind & body were peacefully resting. When they woke Him up, He talked to them about faith. You know that phrase “standing in faith?” I think there are times for that. But what about resting in faith? That’s what our sweet Jesus was doing. Resting, in faith, confident everything would be more than okay. Confident that really, despite what it looked like, everything was okay.
So, here’s to a season of resting!
Purpose
“The wind blows to the south and goes around to the north;
around and around goes the wind, and on its circuits the wind returns.All streams run into the sea, but the sea is not full;
to the place where the streams flow, there they flow again.All things are full of weariness; a man cannot utter it; the eyes is not satisfied with seeing, nor the ear filled with hearing.
What has been is what will be, and what has been done is what will be done,
there is nothing new under the sun.-Ecclesiastes 1:6-9
Over and over again, the author of Ecclesiastes proclaims, “Vanity of vanities, vanity of vanities! All is vanity.” Can you feel that progression of emotion? Frustration muddled with hopelessness. I think I’m feeling it these days. Post-Serve:project, so much is swirling my way. Good things. Things I asked for, or things the Lord and those around me knew I’d love, appreciate, even need. I’ve been pampered with a jacuzzi tub, spa treatment, fancy dinners and new things. Thank you, Father and family.
Alas, all is vanity. All is meaningless without the King. Even with the King, if my gaze starts shifting and I focus on those first, hope drops and meaning flutters away. That was my yesterday. And, I’m starting to see that more easily than the past eight months, it could slip into my everyday here. As my dear friend Elizabeth would, I want to shake my head and repeat “uh-uh, uh-uh!” I stamp my foot and shout, “No!” in my Sadie Faye way. I don’t want that. I want to peek about for glimpses of the Kingdom here. I want to usher in the reign of my Father, to whisper and sing and shout to others about it, about Him. I want to dance around, celebrating what was and is and is to come.
Help me, Father. I’m prone to wander. Please don’t let me. Hold my hand tight and twirl me around for Your glorious glory, Your Majesty. Help me to be purposeful in the little, to serve with love and listen with attentiveness. I want to help You scoop Your little ones up into Your arms. Help me not forget.
“I will.”
Bathroom Buddies
I’ve been sick for the past few days and our resident nurse (my teammate, Rachel) ordered me to stay at home to rest. Hard as it was for me – really, it was – I did it. Yesterday I slept. But today, sleeping seemed so yesterday, so I opted for watching Little Rascals and laying low – I figured I could tuck in early and it’d even out. My rest day progressed and before long, the beautiful African Sunset rolled in, the moon and stars made their debut and I knew it was time I begin my bedtime routine. Grabbing my bag of toiletries, I headed across the lawn to our bathroom. Now, if this were a dramatic movie, creepy boisterous music that usually pairs with the goriest of scenes or a horrible turn of events would be played here. I climbed the two steps only to see (wait for it) BUGS EVERYWHERE. Yes, bugs. Red, black, brown complete with too many legs and beady eyes and wings. They coated the walls, ready to attack at any moment!
So much for my shower – I’d be too vulnerable to the soaring things. Maybe I could forgo washing my face and brushing my teeth. After all, I thought, it’s only one night. They’d just installed a new light and it was left on, attracting massive hoards of bugs. Tomorrow we would certainly leave that light off. For now, the dilemma remained. But alas, there was one non-negotiable. Nurse Rachel gave strict advice to hydrate. I’d followed that to a T. Therein lay my problem: drinking a lot of fluid leads to much needed bathroom breaks. While meeting this need would not endanger me as much as a shower, it’s undeniable— I’d be much more open to the wrath of the swarm than were I to opt out. I considered, but there was no opting out. This was a must. Then, a thought… what about the Leaders’ bathrooms?
I traversed the rest of the yard to the Leader’s bathrooms. Drat! The light for those, too, had been left on. The walls surrounding the toilet here were much higher, allowing much more room for the bugs to rest, awaiting unsuspecting “friends” such as I. My bladder is small. Time was running out. It was do or die (I admit, my thought process was a tad dramatic). By the skin of my teeth, I made it out alive.
Okay, now my recounting of the tale is growing dramatic. But the thing is, that was how I was feeling. As I came out of the bathroom, I tried to calm the adrenaline rush and swelling frustrations with reassuring thoughts of the American bathrooms awaiting me. Those glorious places where bugs wont plague me with fear and the leaving the light on will have only unseen implications. But then I remembered that every Ugandan I’ve met is exposed to these bugs – and there’s no escaping to American bathrooms for them. Shoving that thought away, I began rationalizing my clearly irrational overreactions, “Ugandans grew up with these bugs. They know which ones are harmful and which aren’t; I don’t, so I have to fear them all (even those pesky ants)!” “I’m sick, I shouldn’t have to go through this when I’m sick.” “Wait ‘till my friends at home hear about this, they will be astonished at all I had to go through.”
By this point I was ten seconds into washing my hands and I finally paid attention to the water I was looking at. There I stood, in Uganda, washing my hands with water that comes from a faucet. Some Ugandans walk miles to the nearest “bore hole” to stand in line, to pump undrinkable water into jerry cans, to carry them home on their heads, to boil some to drink and divvy up the rest for washing dishes, clothes and their children. I journeyed across the lawn to my bonda, contemplating the huge property we live on here, the toilets we use contrasted with holes in the ground. the cement floors and tiled walls our bathrooms boast rather than dirt/mud(hopefully) floors and ratty old wooden walls that 20+ huts share. Snap back to reality. Those sobering realizations kept rolling, and still roll as I sit in my bed writing this.
One of my leaders, Amy, wrote a blog earlier this week after we helped in a medical clinic in another village (serveproject.wordpress.com). I remembered what she wrote about the difference in how the Acholi people and most Americans view pills. Almost as if to reinforce Amy’s point, my mind flashed back to that afternoon when one of the women who work for the property we live on encountered a pill mid-sweep. She picked it up and handed it to me, asking whose it might be. I stared at it, figuring it could be a vitamin, and thinking it odd she picked it up from the dirt – no one would take it now, I thought. But here, most everyone is sick with one thing or another, and medicine is terribly expensive- especially when rice and beans are on the line.
What luxuries I’ve been given. How foolishly I write them off. I know I can’t dwell on it all excessively, but I’d forgotten that I don’t have permission to flippantly excuse the way life is lived in third world countries – the injustices, the poverty, the inequality. So now, though it’s hard when the bugs bother, I’m thankful that God used these buggy buddies in the bathroom to catch my attention.
His Kingdom is Bigger
As I ponder the months that lay ahead, my heart nearly hyperventilates from the whirl of emotions that will undoubtedly ensue. There will be deep sadness over the distance between my servefam and me, abounding joy at the first glances and hugs from my family, a calmed comfort at the ease of a familiar culture, disappointment that no one understands apwoyo matek or the joys of a boda boda ride, the rush of love and gratitude with each meeting with supporters, the ache of the realization that I can’t explain it all, the sigh of relief at the ease of communication contrasted with the deep groan that many will bluntly deny the One who made them, the giddy excitement over coffee with my girls from Colorado and Seattle and again the bummer that these 15 I’ve walked with so closely are no longer renting the same property as I.
But, in all these swelling emotions, I’ll remind myself that His Kingdom is bigger.
His Kingdom is for the healing of nations, the comfort and care of orphans and widows, defense for the weak, joy for the distraught, help for the broken. Restoration. As new chapters begin, I’ll fashion a proverbial sticky note to my forehead and remember the One who gave it all so that all of this could be possible.
I’ll remember the One who came to bind wounds, comfort hearts and who will one day wipe all of our tears.
So, in the midst of it all, I’ll be thankful for what’s passed, present where He has me, and I’ll join in as… “The [Holy] Spirit and the bride (the church, the true Christians) say, Come! And let him who is listening say, Come! And let everyone come who is thirsty [who is painfully conscious of his need of those things by which the soul is refreshed, supported, and strengthened]; and whoever [earnestly] desires to do it, let him come, take, appropriate, and drink the water of Life without cost.” (Rev 22)
Short dress glowing in the blacklights, she stood near the mysterious entryway, waiting. On her left sat a woman in a red dress. As the first woman walked away, Maegan and I pulled up chairs next to the one in red. Conversation casually progressed and we discovered she was from Rwanda; her “services” had been offered in the rooms behind us for as long as she’d been in Uganda. I turned to introduce myself to one of her co-workers and the one in red, tired of waiting, stood to mingle with potential clients.
The co-worker spelled her name out for me. M-a-b-l-e. She was from Kenya. The woman in red had been guarded, mysterious and even somewhat ominous, like the rooms behind her. Mable was bubbly. Unlike the secretive one I’d talked to before, she leaned in to tell me she was a sex-worker, a hint of pride in her voice. Noting her openness, I seized the opportunity and continued asking questions: “How many work with you?” Twenty. “Would you like to see?” Smiling, she bounced through the doorway. Maegan, mid-conversation with another woman, quickly followed.
Maegan and Mable’s voices in the background of my consciousness, I took in everything around me. The rooms, reminiscent of dorms, held one to two girls each. Behind a few open doors I could see women getting dressed, others cleaning the floors, others finishing their make-up. Some of the women smiled at Maegan and I while others attempted intimidation with their stares.
Then there was one whose face is burned in my memory. The blankness behind her eyes broke my heart. She’d been here for two years. Mable had been here two months – perhaps that accounted for the difference in our interactions? This one reminded me of the eels in The Little Mermaid. She wasn’t conniving, but it was as if the life had been sucked from her, and she was but a shriveled version of the woman the Lord dreamed up.
Mable’s room consisted of a bed, a few outfits hung on hooks on the wall and a chair covered in condoms. The bright turquoise paint was peeling and a ceiling tile near the lone window was missing. Our questions and the subsequent discoveries about this foreign world continued. The Ugandan equivalent of $2.50 to $5.00 is expected fare for each customer. That means on a good night, women can earn around $50USD, but in seasons like now, with school fees due, “money is hard” and the women just hope for enough to pay for rent and food. The women rent the rooms for a little over $7.50 every night, whether they can work or not. Mable confessed her job was hard at first, and that she still doesn’t really like it, but “money problems” led to her to this line of work. As Mable spilled information, the Flotsom-esque woman outside seemed to scold her and Mable stopped in the midst of her sentence, looking down. She regained her smile and responded to Maegan’s casual comments about working with so many women. “We are all one,” Mable repeated. I looked up at the shavings of ceiling tile that hung and could almost hear the lie they tried to whisper, “these ones are not worth it.” Not worth upkeep of rooms. Not worth dignity afforded by other lines of work. Not worth the price.
Looking into Mable’s eyes, I heard Jesus shouting through the centuries, “you are worth My life.”
“Fear not, for you will not be ashamed; be not confounded, for you will not be disgraced; for you will forget the shame of your youth… for your Maker is your husband, the Lord of hosts is his name; and the Holy One of Israel is your Redeemer, the God of the whole earth he is called… ‘With everlasting love I will have compassion on you,’ says the Lord, your Redeemer.”
-Is. 54:5,8
A snapshot of life here: One of my teammates and I have taken sort of pranking our brothers on our team… this is one of said pranks. We snuck onto one guy’s computer and took something like 80 pictures in photo booth, then we set one of them as his background. Since then, it’s progressed to music videos for songs like hakkunah mattata and “bye-bye-bye.” Then we tell them, “you’ve been served.” It’s pretty epic :)
All In
This might come as a surprise to you, but I rather enjoy playing poker. Texas Hold’em to be exact. What might surprise you even more is that until I’ve won something like 80% of the times I’ve played here. A critical piece of my winning streak is the fact that we play for candy - it’s so much sweeter and more motivating than money or poker chips - don’t you think? :)
I actually enjoy the poker-face part of it all (even if my poker face is a plastered on smile because trying not to only forces a more suspicious looking grin). The risk in it is rather exhilarating. What’s coming up on the river? Can I catch the straight? What in the world do my opponents have? Are they bluffing? There’s so much fun in the unknown.
The most exciting hands are, of course, the ones that include a bet that’s escalated to the point of putting players all-in. Every last piece of candy is on the table. With the push of the candy forward, players are, in essence, saying that they’re pretty positive that what they’ve got is worth it. It’s all or nothing, and the possibility of loosing it all is worth the risk. The chance to gain is worth it. Sometimes the mindset behind the move is, “there’s nothin’ to loose.” Other times, players are positive they’ve got the best hand out there- they think, “winning is inevitable.”
Recently, I realized that these instances in poker are rather applicable to life. I think I’ve been rather sheepish for some time now. I put a bit on the table here, fold and sit back there. I’ve hoarded what I had out of fear of what I’d loose.
I don’t want to do that anymore. If the ultimate bet is exhilarating and worth it in poker, I want to recognize the good hand- the royal flush, if you will- that I’ve been dealt, and I want to go all in.
While I’m not absolutely positive what this looks like, I’m pretty sure it means avoiding sheepish actions driven by fear and the impulse to fold when it’s obvious that the opportune moment to step forward has arisen.
I want to hasten to go all in, realizing I’ve been given all I need to be victorious.
Last Thursday at 6am, our team embarked on a different kind of adventure: one of rest.
Halleluiah.
This adventure took us across the country to a beautiful place called Sipi Falls. We made our abode in Swiss Family Robinson-esque huts that were embedded in the side of lush mountains and we fell asleep to the roar of the 300 ft waterfall that cascaded down the nearby cliff.
This place was incredible.
As I stared out at the mountains and valley, I couldn’t help thinking about Eden. It was beautiful, peaceful, awe-inspiring and only lacked the Father Himself perusing His creation with His children. From here, my mind wandered to the discipleship lesson that tackles creation & Christ’s sacrifice. It includes the question: “Why did God create us?” People generally respond with, “to take care of/subdue/control creation,” “to obey/follow Him,” “to give Him glory/praise.” But each of those answers miss the critical key piece of why the God who is love created us. Love is meant to be shared, eh? He created Adam and Eve for relationship with Him and it’s the same for each of us. As I stared out over the cliffs, to the lush valley I landed more solidly on this Truth. This kind of beauty would not be created by a selfish and harsh slave-driver. No, there was and is certainly love behind it.
Naturally, the Lord wooed me some more during my time near the falls. He spoke to me of His love for me again and again; He reminded me about two Christmases ago when He spoke to me about not settling in life - and about going for the adventures that He created me for; and He reminded me of His hugeness. No word can contain how magnificent He is.
In that beautiful place, worries and hopelessness lost hold. Peace and wonder rushed in.
At 6am this morning we began our journey to our current home on the other side of Uganda. Facing Monday, I’m grateful for deep rest and I feel ready to continue ministry. I think my perspective is back on track, with my gaze in the right place - or getting there. To Him alone I look. He is the One who created me and died for my name’s sake - what a privilege to live for His.
Epic - A Post by My Dear Friend Maegan Waison
Twenty minute later the most epic thunderstorm I have ever experienced sounded, quite literally, like it was hovering above the straw roof of my bonda. Wind and rain hissed passed my window. The lightening was blinding. The thunder boomed and rolled for what seemed like minutes at a time. So naturally, my bladder chose this exact moment to let me know it was at maximum capacity.
I held off as long as I could. I had even scanned the hut with my headlamp for a bucket , or perhaps a large mug to relieve myself. When Kimberly slid out of her bunk to shut our windows, I knew what I had to do. I used my one semester of psychology I took at community college to convince that sweet, unsuspecting girl she had to pee. It worked. We put on our rain jackets and scurried to the girl’s side of the communal bathrooms. By the time we got back, I felt like I had just showered in my clothes. Twice.
So now you know. Thunderstorms in Africa don’t play. You know what else? When you tell your Ugandan cook you’d like chicken stew for dinner, they don’t play either. Those chicken feet have some meat. Go ahead and suck that bone marrow out, too. It does a body good.
***
Again, Maegan wrote this - she is hilarious and deep. Check out her blog at http://maeganwasion.wordpress.com/
Abiding
For a while now I’ve become aware of the struggle to be present: to not be consumed by text message conversations with friends who are elsewhere and instead to pay attention to my friends who are actually with me, to not get so caught up in future plans that I neglect the current happenings and more recently, to not dwell so deeply on the past that I forget to jump into my current place of life.
Today, however, a new perspective on being present was raised: to be present with God. If I abide, as Jesus speaks of it in John 15, He will lead me through memories, dreams, current happenings and even my passions, without any unhealthy obsession or concentration on impertinent matters. If I am abiding in Him, there is peace. So even if I am walking through the market and see something that reminds me of a dear one at home, I will not fall into missing that friend so much that I neglect the Lord’s beloveds that are on my right or left – instead, I know He is taking care of that friend, that He treasures both of us, our friendship and I can even talk to Him about them – but if at any point in my abiding with Him I hear Him redirect my focus to one He loves who is at the market near me, I can turn to pay attention to them instead!
Life in Community
Doing life with people is important.What’s more, it’s sooo good.
In our society it’s rather unpopular/unheard of. Independence is glorified; dependence is nearly a dirty word. I wont try to unpack why that is, but I’m sure there are plenty of sociological and historical reasons for it.
When I say doing life with people, I don’t merely mean having a giant friend-group. I mean seriously walking through life with people that you trust, who encourage you and jump with you into bigger and better things. This is a community with depth.
Regardless of who you follow, I think this is so important. However, the communities of this sort that I’ve experienced have only been within the Body of Christ. I think it might be easier this way b/c it is a group of people who are all filled with the Holy Spirit, having something HUGE in common. Furthermore, it’s a group with eyes focused (or the hope of that focus) on One who pours out His love on them, that they might pour it out on eachother and others they encounter.
Community - where joy and authenticity abound, and encouraging one another, walking into fullness - it’s mmm, mmm good. :)
I don’t know what else to say, except that I think you should find such a community. One where you can be yourself and press further into the One who made you – a community where encouragement flows and together you do things you never dreamed of.
The Rhythm of Life Here
Here, life moves to a different beat.
As dawn breaks, the sun softly,sweetly sings – nearly whispering the melody of the new day. Slowly, the light rises, and it’s notes reach ever farther, finding their way through the windows of our bonda. The rays sing a gentle good morning, blending with the sounds of showers running and beds rustling.
Once I climb out of my mosquito net canopy, and dawn my culturally appropriate attire, I finally accept my Beloved’s invitation to sit with Him, hear His Words, encouragements, dreams and wisdom and to bask in His love, resting in a new way.
As the morning goes on, breakfast is set out and I enjoy it in His company and that of various teammates that are meeting with the Lord as well. Then of course, come the small chores I’ve forgotten: preparing laundry and getting ready, etc.
Most every weekday morning, my teammates and I then meet with our Father in worship. He is good. As we come to His throne together, He whispers encouragements, affirmations, and heart matters to us about each other, that we might share His love with one another.
Some mornings we follow this by meetings full of practical details, and other mornings encompass teachings or time together in smaller groups.
Then, we partner together to meet with locals we’ve already encountered to read God’s word and talk with Him or we embark on journeys to find those the Lord has prepared for us to meet. Some days take us far and require translators, while other days bring us just beyond our part of town and understanding is effortless.
Errands and meetings alike take much more time here. There is no rush. Lunch may be a three hour commitment and an ATM withdrawal easily occupies an afternoon.
Most evenings, we return for dinner together, sharing stories from our days. Then we spend time together playing games, laughing or crying, connecting via internet/phone with loved ones or enjoying chocolate or other treats by the light of our headlamps.
As night sets in, we each make our way to our mosquito net covered beds. As we lay our heads down to sleep, recounting the day’s adventures the sounds of drum beats and songs of another language float through the windows, whispering goodnight.
Sin.
Why do we do it?
I’ve been struck by the incomprehensible lasting effects of it. It’s like we’ve got giant swords. We think we want to do this or that and swing them around because of the great fun we will have. But perhaps we don’t notice or think about the cuts our swords bring to those around us. And to ourselves - these swords of sin are not very safe at all.
It’s so awful because each of us have been sinned against. We’ve been wounded badly and so often it is out of those painful places that we move and operate. So then, we wind up hurting others in awful ways, only continuing the brutal cycle.
1 Then the angel showed me a river with the water of life, clear as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb. 2 It flowed down the center of the main street. On each side of the river grew a tree of life, bearing twelve crops of fruit,[a] with a fresh crop each month. The leaves were used for medicine to heal the nations.
-Revelation 22
Oh, how this place needs that healing.
Lord, please draw us to yourself.
