Shoulda/Coulda/Woulda

So many times these last few weeks, I've been thinking in my head about the perfect final blog post. This blog post would concisely yet thoroughly capture all the ups and downs of the last 2 years, would communicate how I have gleaned wisdom and meaning from these experiences, and, of course, it would wrap it all up with a neat bow.  It would read:  "I was sent here to Tanzania to do this;  I came, I saw, I conquered and I'm a better person because of this for these 3 reasons (of course 3 - the favorite number of sermon points).  Now I'm going back to the U.S. to change the world in these (3?) ways and this is my plan to do this."

This, my friends, is not that blog post.

The last few weeks have been a swirl of emotions and stress and I just haven't had any time to fully process any of it.  My goal has been just to keep my head above water and do what I need to do in that moment.  Today, our last day in Dar, will not be spent reflecting out upon our last views of the Indian Ocean.  It will be spent frantically packing, delivering furniture and printing out boarding passes and itineraries.

Although I haven't had a lot of focused reflection time, the messages that keep circling in my brain are not positive ones.  They are words of judgment:  You should have learned more Swahili!  You could have done a better job getting to know that person.  I wish you would have lived more "in the moment."  Did you truly appreciate the beauty and community you were in while you were in it?

Needless to say, these are not uplifting or helpful messages and serve only to rock my too-fragile emotional core.   These same judgmental refrains were also a part of my pre-Tanzania life (and most definitely will be a part of post-Tanzania life).  They are words of a frustrated perfectionist/over-achiever who's still trying to do.

I picture myself standing before my Savior one day with all these messages of shoulda/coulda/woulda on my lips...apologies, guilt, recrimination for the life I led.  I'm not able to look Him in the eye;  I didn't do for the least of these.  I was ashamed of the gospel.  I did fail so many times and in so many ways to be the person I was created to be.

But then He says;  "Well done, good and faithful servant."  And it's not because of anything I have done or ever could do:  It's because of what He did.  That is Grace!

So I'm trying to extend this same grace to myself, which is freely offered even in this life.  I do think with time and distance, I will get more perspective on the whole experience.  I do know that I'm not the same person I was.  I know that I've been changed in so many ways:  some that I won't even realize until I'm back in the old/new "daily grind," and some I may never consciously realize.

The Tanzanian journey will continue - just not in Tanzania any longer, and so I plan to write periodic updates to this story from the U.S. from time to time.  

Thanks for being with us the past 2 years.  We couldn't have done it without all of you.

Mungu akubariki!  (God bless you).

Simple Pleasures

For her birthday this past week, one of Charlotte's most-cherished gifts was a can of Mug root beer. Next week, Josh will get a small bag of pretzels (shhh...don't tell).  Emily's birthday highlight in March was a box of Betty Crocker blueberry muffin mix.  These items are rare, pricey (probably around 3-4 times the cost in the U.S. or so) and oh so precious here.  They make awesome gifts!

I'm really going to miss the fact that a can of soda can be a birthday gift here.  I love that we have only one car, we walk to school, a luxury splurge is the purchase of parmesan cheese and a big night out on the town is a movie at a friend's house.  Living here has been very challenging and difficult, but it has been simple.

I am more than a bit frightened to re-enter the comparatively much easier, yet very consumeristic, fast-pased world of northern New Jersey.  Here, just the treat bag at a middle-class child's birthday party is more elaborate than anything most children in Africa have ever seen.

We have always tried our best to embrace a simple lifestyle, but it is harder to do this in complicated surroundings.  We love our kids and want them to have great experiences, and so this often involves second-guessing ourselves, being inconsistent and diluting values.  I don't mind being "different" and continuing to try and live my missionary lifestyle in the suburbs, but to the teens and pre-teens, different means disastrous.  The lines become blurry between "needs" and "wants."

I can remember one of the first times our "other-ness" caused a rift.  Emily was in first grade and one of her best friends ate "Lunchables" every day.  We refused to buy these, citing the cost and the less-than-ideal nutritional profile.  At that age, she accepted our explanations at face value and, parroting our words, somewhat pompously informed her friend that, "Our family chooses to spend money on different things."

Over the years, this desire to keep up with friends has come up again and again:  Why don't we have cable?  Why can't I get an iPhone?  My friend goes to Disney every year - why can't we?  Why are we still driving our dented-up mini-van - my friend gets a new car every 2 years?  "But Mom, they have a/we don't have a (fill in the blank...pool, dog, Abercrombie wardrobe, etc. etc. ....)"

Most of the time we say, "We can't afford that" and although there is usually an element of truth contained in that response, it goes deeper than that.  Even when I have the money, I truly don't want to spend my money on some of these things.  Every family budget reflects their values and I want to spend our money on things like educational travel, music lessons, family experiences, and on giving to others.  I don't want to feed the engine that is a consumerist economy.

I know there will be a strong culture of entitlement facing my children.  Thanks to the power of advertising, kids are bombarded with messages on what they every kid "should" have.  And we haven't even entered the era of the prom (and prom-posals?) or the sweet 16 party.  It's only going to get more challenging as the kids get older.

I'm already dreading the back-to-school shopping extravaganza in August:  the cost, the waste (do they really need a new box of 24 crayons every year?), the desire already for brand names.  Oh, how I will miss those HOPAC uniforms.

I am praying that our experiences here have changed us enough to better withstand this siren song of consumerism.  I was encouraged a few nights ago, when, while reading "Mallory's Birthday" (a popular set of books for girls), Charlotte expressed disgust for Mallory's desire to celebrate a birthday month, which included a gift every day of the month and a cake every week just for her.

Charlotte stopped reading and said, "Mom, nobody needs a gift every day.  She should be happy with what she has." (note - I'm sure that will eventually become the message of the book...we just haven't read that far).

Yet the sad truth is that, even here in Africa, where it's simpler to live and harder to buy stuff, we still managed to do so, in abundance.  As we pack up, I am astounded at the amount we've managed to accumulate in just two years...and how much we think we "need," even living 1 kilometer away from a child living in a flimsy mud hut.

Luke 12:15 says, "Watch out!  Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; life does not consist in an abundance of possessions."

Running the Race

Back in February, I decided to run the HOPAC 5K race on June 6.  I sat down and marked out a good 12-week training plan, because I ran this race last year and I wanted to improve my time.  Although I had been running fairly consistently, I felt confident that if I followed the plan, I'd get even faster and stronger.

I eagerly followed my plan for a few weeks, and then life intervened.  I hurt my back.  Then I got sick.  Then it rained.  Then I got sick again.  Then it rained again.  I ended up running only 2 days in the month of May.  It wasn't easy even on the days in which I could run.  Along the way, I sweated profusely.  Bugs flew into my eyes, nose and mouth while running.  I slipped on mud.  I slipped on gravel.  I fell and bloodied my knee.  I was laughed at by Maasai.  One time, I had to run past a sketchy-looking guy who was doing some very personal business to the side of the road.

Running the actual race was equally ugly.  Several times I felt like throwing up.  I had to walk up most of the hill during the second lap.  I needed to lie down most of yesterday afternoon after the race because I had a pounding headache and felt exhausted.  I felt disappointed with myself because I hadn't followed the plan and my time was significantly worse than last year. (side note in that my husband and children are amazing athletes which is even more humbling).

Then I started thinking about how I hardly ever follow "the plan."  Although it seems like others can flawlessly execute impressive lists of life goals, there are always obstacles in my path.  My race course change started with the fact that although I was the top student in my class, I failed to get into any of my top college choices.  I experienced another major plan detour when my dad died of cancer when I was 25 and I moved without a job to be with him in his final weeks.  I never planned on being anything other than a full-time working mother but I haven't done that since Charlotte was born. Moving to Africa was never part of "the plan," either.

The good news is that the Race Maker plans the perfect course for all of us.  I can't imagine living a life without a Calvin education, my NJ community, extra time with my kids or our time in Tanzania. Although we may not feel it at the time, it's the bumps and bruises that we suffer along the way that make us more like Jesus.  Death to self also means death to our plan.

In looking at running the race from a Biblical perspective, Hebrews 12:1 says that we are to "run with perseverance the race marked out for us."   I'll confess that the race I want to run is one on a level, paved course, at a perfect 68 degrees with low humidity and gentle breezes.  It ends with me triumphantly crossing the finish line to victory, blowing kisses to my legions of adoring fans, setting a personal record without breaking a sweat.

But we do not determine the race that is marked out for us.  We are called only to be faithful to the course set by the Race Maker and to do so with perseverance:  of not giving up, no matter what.   I love how The Message translates Hebrews 12:1:  "Strip down, start running—and never quit! No extra spiritual fat, no parasitic sins. Keep your eyes on Jesus, who both began and finished this race we’re in. Study how he did it. Because he never lost sight of where he was headed—that exhilarating finish in and with God—he could put up with anything along the way: Cross, shame, whatever..."

The race I thought I'd be running in Dar es Salaam involved forming deep relationships with Tanzanians, becoming proficient in Swahili and leading people to Jesus.  It included doing great acts of service to bring about meaningful change, lifting people out of poverty.

It did not include becoming beat down by the heat, power outages, and sickness.  It did not include moments of aching loneliness, of cross-cultural awkwardness, of fractured family relationships, of tension and strain, of many, many times of wanting to quit.  Many times, unlike Jesus, I lost sight of where I was headed.

My race has not always been easy or fun, but as I leave Tanzania, may I say along with Paul that "I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith." (2 Timothy 4:7).

The Long Goodbye Season

Seven weeks from today, our family will be leaving Tanzania, which means that we will have to say goodbye to all the people, places and things that have brought great meaning to our lives over the past two years. That's really difficult.  What's even harder is the fact that between now and then, almost every one of our closest friends will be leaving ahead of us...meaning that we won't say "goodbye" just one time. We will need to say it more like twenty times. 

Summer (or actually it is called "long break" for those of us with opposite seasons) is prime time for teacher missionary travel.  Almost every one of the people we love will be traveling home on a short-term basis, and although they will be returning for the next school year, we will not.

This long season of goodbyes made its debut a couple of weeks ago as new friends Brooklyn and Jonathan returned to the U.S. to have a baby.  It continued on this past week as a family very dear to us - the Pickels - left for Canada.  On and on this season will continue through the following weeks, increasing in magnitude once school ends (June 18) until we ourselves head off to the airport on June 30.  In fact, Tim and I have joked to each other that by the time we leave, we may just be waving goodbye to the empty Hill around us (don't worry, Kappers - we are thankful that you'll still be around).

Does this long, drawn-out process make things easier or more difficult?  To me, it feels like the process of removing a Band-Aid.  Although ripping it off in one quick motion is more painful at the time, it's also over much faster.  If that's a correct analogy, I fear that we're in for a lengthy season of pain.



However, can we actually experience the pain of twenty good-byes or will we begin to become callous in this process because it hurts too much otherwise?  It wasn't too hard for me to leave the U.S. because I always believed I'd return to NJ.  Although I know that things have changed and I have changed, we'll be heading back to a structural set-up that is pretty close to what we left two years ago. However, I already know that I'll never return to this particular set-up...ever.  Even if God calls us back to HOPAC, the community is so transient that it will look almost completely different in just a few years from now.  So saying goodbye here is for real.

I worry that I won't be able to walk my kids through their own emotions because I am busy processing my own responses to transition.  I worry that I won't be able to give my full attention to their grief because I am thinking about 1,000 move logistics details in my head while they are pouring out their souls to me.

I already know that we have different grieving styles in our family and I worry that we will not be able to extend grace to each other in these differences.  "Pre-grievers" mourn the loss before they leave; post-grievers don't express sadness until after the transition has happened.  I already know that I'm a pretty strong post-griever and at least one of my children is a pre-griever.  Neither are "right" or "wrong," but they are very, very different.   For an excellent article summarizing this, click  here

I worry that we will be quickly forgotten and also that we will forget quickly.

I worry that I didn't soak up enough of this life while I had it.  There were days - many days - that felt like they were unending (including yesterday) but overall, it has gone so, so fast.

I can still remember with perfect clarity those first few days of confusion and chaos.  I look back and marvel at the clueless woman that stumbled her way into Tanzania, and then I marvel at how God has been present all along.  I know that He'll be present in this long season of goodbyes, also.

Just One of those Days....

Deep down, I knew that a day that included a sick kid, a sick dog and a sick self, (not to mention pouring rain and mud) would make for a challenging set of circumstances.  I wasn't wrong.

We all get those days, regardless of where we live, but I feel like these no good, very bad days come more often and are more demoralizing here than they would be in the bubble of comfort I used to call home.  As a friend and I were discussing just last week, the margin between a great day and a day which is an epic fail is very narrow here.

Even after being here for almost 2 years, I still struggle with cross-cultural living.  I still feel like a fat, ignorant, clueless and insensitive mzungu (foreigner).  One reason for this is that I'm reminded that I'm a foreigner every day by the people around me, sometimes multiple times, just in case I forget.  Some days I'm able to laugh it off.  Other days, like today, I can't.

Today's installment of The Idiot Mzungu:
* When I moved here, I knew that there was such a thing as Tanzanian time.  I knew that people were not digital-watch-punctual and that being on time just doesn't happen.  What I didn't realize was that not only are people frequently late...they are also frequently early.  It's still the same concept:  time is not important in this culture.  But it really messes with me when someone is an hour and a half early for an appointment.  And of course, there's no apology for this - it is what it is.  How in the world can you plan your day when someone could easily be two hours early or late?  My type-A planning self cannot handle this.

* No matter how many Swahili words I know, I'm still not going to know what in the world people are saying.  I know the word for "flour" (unga) and I know the word for "soap" (sabuni) but never in the world would I think that unga ya sabuni is an actual thing until our gardener is standing in front of me, asking for it.  I stand there, frozen like a deer in head lights.  Does he mean flour and soap?  Soap flour?  What is soap flour?  He stands there, pity in his eyes for the ignorant mzungu.  Finally, by process of elimination, I determine that he actually wants soap powder.  This mirrored a painful conversation that I had with the woman who cooks for me several weeks ago.  I knew the words for "oil" and "water" but had no idea that vegetable oil is actually referred to as oil water.

* I'm never, ever going to get the indirectness of this culture.  If you want something, ask for it!  If you are sick and you need money for the doctor, please just tell me.  I'm happy to help.  I'm clueless enough trying to read Western non-verbal communication.  If you're expecting me to understand that when you say some vague words and gestures, you are really asking me for help, it's just not happening.  On the opposite extreme, I'm continually taken aback at how total strangers can be super direct, as in the case recently where the guy I buy my groceries from told me that I should give him a present of a football before I move back to America.  Um, why exactly should I do this?  Oh, right - it's because I'm a super rich American that can just shower Tanzanians with gifts at every opportunity.  My bad.

*  There are so many other things I could go into: the tiny nature of shopping carts, meaning I either buy for only a day or two or look like the giant, ridiculous consumer that I am (today they needed to call up some extra help when the mzungu and her overflowing cart of groceries - big order! came through), the recent experience I had in the mall when I received a marriage proposal from a Masai that I had never met before, the frequency of strangers coming up to me and touching me and starting up conversations.  I seriously feel like a zoo animal sometimes.  (On a side note, a friend was telling me how when her friend lived in India, her kids would be photographed every single time they were out....thankfully it's not that bad!)

Tomorrow is a new day, one in which I will have new reserves of patience, humility, grace, and love for my host culture (or maybe the day after tomorrow).  And one day, I'll look back on all these experiences that have grown me and shaped me and realize that they were preparing me for something in the future that I can't even imagine right now.  Truly, none of these no good, very bad days is wasted.

If nothing else, I'm comic relief for hundreds of people in Dar es Salaam....

Duka Adventures

Last week, I decided to get some vegetables at the local duka (roadside stand).  My list included:  tomatoes, carrots, onions, peppers and bananas.

I usually visit a more Western-style store, called Mbezi Fresh, for my produce even though shopping at the duka is quite a bit cheaper.  This, my favorite grocery store in Dar, was new at the end of the last school year.  It appeals to me because it has a wide variety of choices, contains produce and dry goods in one spot (almost unheard-of here), requires less need for Swahili and, because the store is completely inside and in a more climate-controlled environment, I do find the quality better and that the veggies last longer in the fridge (longer=days instead of hours).

It is funny to me how much I love Mbezi Fresh because it's still a Tanzanian store with assorted challenges.  By U.S. standards, it is tiny (NJ friends, it's probably half the size of Food Basics, if even).  The power frequently goes out, which means that the clerks sometimes end up writing receipts by hand (which takes forever).  Certain items stop selling at random, then re-appear.  I have tried to train my children not to become dependent on a specific brand of anything!  A lot of the time, they don't have proper change.  The baggers are never sure what to do with the fact that I bring my own cloth bags. Nonetheless, I love Mbezi Fresh.

But Mbezi isn't super close to our house and requires a certain level of fearlessness in its small and chaotic parking lot (particularly in the rain), so I decided to stay local on that day.  From past experience, I knew that it was unlikely that one spot would have everything on my list, but I also knew that there were 3 vegetable stands on my chosen path.

Duka #1:  Hamna shida (no problems) on the tomatoes, and it was a good price.  I'm never sure exactly what the cost per pound or kilogram is at the duka, because they sell them in a "sado" (which is a small, white plastic bucket that used to contain Sadolin paint...I'm choosing not to dwell on this possibility of lead poisoning for too long).  I would estimate that it's around 5 pounds or so, for about $4 U.S.  Depending on your shopkeeper and how friendly they are, they generally make the Sado overflowing (and they are usually pretty scrupulous about sorting through and giving you only good tomatoes).  All tomatoes here are "Roma" and one of the best parts about living here are their year-round availability.

I was happy with my tomato purchase - first try! - but unfortunately, there were no carrots, onions, peppers or bananas at this duka.

Duka #2:  The pepper and carrot situation was bleak at this location, and although I would have liked to purchase more, I only managed to get 2 carrots and 4 peppers.  Unfortunately, the price for the carrots was significantly higher than usual.  Generally it is around 250-300 shillings per carrot. That day, it was 500 shillings...and these carrots were not particularly large.  I tried to negotiate in Swahili, expressing outrage over the price and asking why it was so high.  His matter-of-fact response:  Bei panda.  Prices climbed.

To keep things in perspective, a 500 shilling carrot is only around 25 cents at the current exchange rate, and the difference between 250 and 500 shillings is less than 15 cents.  We're not talking break-the-bank levels.  However, the issue is not the price itself, but I absolutely hate feeling like I'm being taken advantage of.  Have prices, in fact, climbed, or does he see a white person and assume that I can pay?  That's another point in Mbezi Fresh's favor:  the price is the price, foreigners or Tanzanians.

Although I probably should have just walked away, I am still set in my Western ways where efficiency is king,  I needed the carrots and he knew it.  I sucked it up and paid the 1000 shillings.  I will add that the carrots here are really good and fresh.  I do miss pre-peeled, pre-cut "baby" carrots because it's a lot more work to peel and chop your own, but they are light years tastier here.

The other reason I decided to buy them is because I've learned an important lesson here:  if you see it and you need it, BUY IT.  It's never going to get cheaper or easier than right then and I have never regretted this philosophy, despite being a less-decisive shopper in the West.

Unfortunately, Duka #2 didn't have bananas or onions.

Duka #3:  had apparently not received a lot of inventory since my last trek to this area.  There were a couple of extremely over-ripe bananas hanging on a string and some rotting tomatoes.  Even from the street, I could tell this was not going to happen, and I didn't even stop.

Final result:  60% of the items on my list and feeling ripped off.  Back to Mbezi Fresh!!

Terror

From Dictionary.com: "Terror (noun): 1) intense, sharp, overmastering fear: to be frantic with terror....2) an instance or cause of intense fear or anxiety; quality of causing terror...4) violence or threats of violence used for intimidation or coercion;terrorism.”

In the wake of Al-Shabaabs's attack last week on Garissa University in Kenya, there has been a WhatsApp message circulating around Dar that reads:

"This is a very serious warning from UNDP Dar!  Beware on Friday [April 10] suspected Somalian terrorist attacks in Dar, Mwanza, Arusha and Mbeya.  Try to avoid public gathering places on that day, especially hotels.  UN Security warning.  Please take extra care and avoid public gathering places.  Forward this message to all your friends."

HOPAC has been checking directly with the United Nations, the U.S. embassy, the British High Commission and other sources and all research shows that this is a completely false report. Nonetheless, despite being totally unverified, this message spread like wildfire throughout the community this week and many students said they would not be attending school today.

From a logical, rational perspective, I know that these rumors are just rumors.  Anyone can anonymously post up a wild and crazy theory and I can't imagine that Al-Shabaab would gain anything by starting a conflict with another country (or in the case of an attack on an international school, many countries).

But terror does not operate in a climate of logical or rational behavior and our kids in particular have been very affected by this.  They begged to stay home from school this morning and Tim and I have spent most of the last 2 evenings at home trying to calm their fears.  It's times like these that I realize that I have no idea what I'm doing as a parent.  I can say all the "right" things and commit it all to prayer, but when they say things like, "A responsible parent wouldn't send their child to school...it's not worth the risk" or "I just want to grow up and go to college, get married and have kids," that's when the cold fear of terror hits me.  Are we making the right decisions?  What if?

How much do you expose your kids to the news versus sheltering them from it?  When they ask, "Do they kill people because they are Christians?" do you answer honestly?  When they question, "Are there terrorists in Tanzania?" how do you respond?

Hearing the brutal truth:  "Yes, terrorists are everywhere!  They are godless and soulless and can attack at anytime.  Islamic fundamentalists do hate Christians.  We are all unsafe:  anytime, anywhere!" and living in a grip of fear is more terrifying than anything the actual terrorists can do.  The other truth:  "Put your trust in God alone - He will shelter you under His wings...If anything happens and we are killed, we're going to a better place!" often rings hollow.

Nonetheless, today, instead of focusing on Al-Shabaab (the youth), I'm choosing to meditate on El-Shaddai (God Almighty).  I read Psalm 46 to the kids before school this morning and I was struck again by its message of comfort.

"God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble."  (verse 1)  We don't need to be strong because He is the refuge.

"Nations are in uproar, kingdoms fall.  He lifts his voice, the earth melts" (verse 6). 
God is not surprised by any of this.  In fact, He promised that Christians would be persecuted for their faith.

"He makes wars cease to the ends of the earth; he breaks the bow and shatters the spear."  (verse 9).
God is more powerful than any terrorist group or nation.  They all exist only by His will.

"Be still and know that I am God.  I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth." (verse 10).  
God has this all under control and whatever happens, we know that He will be glorified.

It is good for me to be reminded to "be still."  I am honestly less afraid at what will happen today as I am angry that our family has been in turmoil for 2 days over this.  A handful of terrorists have the ability to literally paralyze my children with fear and I can't protect their minds, let alone their bodies. But God can.

Please join me in praying specifically for East Africa today, and for protection for Christians around the world.

"The Lord Almighty is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress."  (verse 11)