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).
Tuesday, June 30, 2015
Monday, June 15, 2015
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.
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."
Sunday, June 7, 2015
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).
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).
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