Tuesday, November 15, 2016

because I love you

“Service is the overflow which pours from a life filled with love and devotion. But strictly speaking, there is no call to that. Service is what I bring to the relationship and is the reflection of my identification with the nature of God. Service becomes a natural part of my life. God brings me into the proper relationship with Himself so that I can understand His call, and then I serve Him on my own out of a motivation of absolute love. Service to God is the deliberate love-gift of a nature that has heard the call of God. Service is an expression of my nature, and God’s call is an expression of His nature. Therefore, when I receive His nature and hear His call, His divine voice resounds throughout His nature and mine and the two become one in service. The Son of God reveals Himself in me, and out of devotion to Him service becomes my everyday way of life.” (Oswald Chambers)

That’s a bit different than how we usually serve, isn’t it? 

The first week Christian and I met with our service life group, we asked our six students why we serve. They gave some different answers: “Because it feels good when you help someone.” “Because there are lots of people less fortunate than us.” “Because Jesus tells us to.” I liked the last answer because she didn’t say she liked to serve, or even pretend to like it. She knew that because Jesus commanded it then she should do it. 

If my memory serves me right, no one said we should serve because we love God. Not that the other reasons are bad, but those aren’t where service should start. 

Not that I am a very good example. 

As of late, I’m afraid my service has not been motivated by love. Otherwise I wouldn’t resent it so much. Especially in the past five days, the workload has been so much I simply want to leave, forget about it all and not come back for a long, long time. 

The other day I was singing a song called “The More I Seek You,” and a new verse Auntie Tina wrote says, “Jesus, your love is overwhelming me.” I feel like I am overwhelmed by everything except that. I kept singing, hoping it would become true, but the weight has yet to be lifted. 

What is motivating my service? 

Duty. The things I am doing now are my job. It’s straightforward. I am expected to do them and my whole life I have not been one to fall short of expectations placed on me. 

Pride. I want the cantata to go well. I don’t want it to fail. I don’t want the holiday program to fail. Partly for the children, but also because it will reflect poorly on me. I want to do all of this and handle everything with such grace and peace that people look at me and shake their heads and say, “I really don’t know how she manages all that.”

The children. I want them to learn how to read. It will get them far. I want them to learn discipline and commitment, so I put in extra time to teach them that. I want them to grow up into people who love and respect God. I also want them to like me, but that is not a priority. 

If we serve without love, it is as much use as a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal, something that serves no purpose and of which people are happy to be free. I don’t want that to be me. I don’t want that to be anyone. 

Can you have service without joy? Not when it is motivated by absolute love. 

The other day Christian was stressed about some things (he also has a major workload at the moment) and expressed how fed up he was with all he had to do at work and that his house and kitchen were a mess but he had no time to clean. Even though my schedule was also full, while he was gone I went to his house and washed all his dishes (there were a lot). He didn’t ask me to. In fact, if he had I would have done it grudgingly. He did not expect me to. Normally, I don’t mind washing dishes, but this time I loved it because I knew it would make him happy. I washed and rinsed and stacked with joy and it was honestly the best part of my day. When I finished, I left a full dish rack and large kitchen towel stacked with dishes—and when I say stacked I mean stacked. It is one of my skills. Next to the towel, though it was probably obvious, I left an index card that said, “because I love you”. 

Every act of service we do should carry that message. I should be able to tack it onto every ballet lesson, every cooked meal, every library time and every game with the children. I can’t remember the last time I served with joy just because I knew it would make God happy. 

Some time last year, six-year-old Isaac was at my house playing. He handed me an empty soda bottle and told me to keep it. Now, if I kept everything a child told me to keep, my house would be chock-full of toys, cardboard boxes, rubber bands, coloring sheets, glitter, bottle caps, hats, plastic bags, birthday presents, letters from sponsors, toothbrushes—you name it. I will admit, often I tell them yes and then throw it away and they never know. But don’t tell the children. 

I tried to give the bottle back to him, knowing he likes to play with things like that outside, but he insisted. Finally, I asked him, “Isaac, why do you want me to keep your bottle?” 

Without missing a beat, he said, “Because I love you.” 

He caught me off guard. In two-and-a-half years, that is the only time one of the children has volunteered those words. Sure, they repeat when I say I love them, but this came out of nowhere. Isaac could have told me to keep a rotten, dead rat for that reason and it still would have made my week. (I sentimentally held onto the bottle for a few weeks, and then it too ended up in the trash can. Don’t tell Isaac. But I still think it was very sweet of him.)

“Because I love you.” It’s like the beautiful antithesis of “because I said so.” 

How often we miss that little note from God. 

God, why did you send Jesus? “Because I love you.” 

Why do you forgive us even when we turn away from you over and over and over again? “Because I love you.” 

Why did you make it rain all morning so inside is cozy and outside is not too hot today? “Because I love you.” 

Why did you bring encouraging friends into my life when I couldn’t pull myself up? “Because I love you.” 

In college I heard a speaker at a conference, and I don’t remember her name and I don’t remember what she talked about except for this one tidbit: “It was then that I realized I was asking the wrong question. Instead of asking, ‘How can I serve you, Lord?’ I should have been asking, ‘How can I love you, Lord?’”

There is a right way to start, and it is not with the act of service. 

A resounding gong, my ass. I want to be an expression of God. 



Sunday, October 9, 2016

Who are we? Olympians!




The Olympic spirit has reached Noah’s Ark! Here’s how it happened: I did not follow the Rio Olympics. To be fair, I never follow the Olympics when they are actually happening; I have always relied on our family in Iowa to record the events I like to watch and then I get to enjoy them over and over again for the next decade. Here is what I know about the most recent events: 

Two runners fell and helped each other to the finish line. 

Some blind runners had faster times than the ones who could see. 

There was a very short gymnast and a very tall volleyball player. 

Americans won a lot of medals. 

Those are based off two articles and a few photos I saw on Facebook. However, I saw them at an opportune time, just as I was brainstorming and preparing for our second term holiday. As I was making a list of games and activities, I added “Olympic events” to the list. Eight sloppy pages and two hours of brainstorming later, I had an arrow to that note that said, “Could we make the whole holiday an Olympic event?” and three pages of notes on exactly how we would do that. So we did. 

I divided fifty primary school children into eight countries, chosen by how easy it was to pronounce the capitol and how few national languages the children would have to remember: China, Tanzania, Germany, Holland (I know it’s not a country, but the children here never call it the Netherlands), America, Brazil, New Zealand, and Kenya. Because our kids are not very familiar with the Olympics, we used it not only as an opportunity to keep them entertained for a few weeks, but also to teach them about a world event. 

We began with our first Olympic Craft, where the olympians (as we referred to them all holiday) made flags for their countries and bandanas to wear to the events. Some actually recreated their country’s flag, while others got creative and did something totally different. As long as they worked on it together, they were fine. 


That Wednesday evening, we held our very own Olympic opening ceremonies to get the children excited about the event… and it worked! We showed a video clip of this year’s lighting ceremony in Olympia, and then I lit our official torch (my kerosene lantern) with a sparkler. I made sure to look the part of the women from the ceremony by wearing Christian’s kanzu (official Ugandan dress for men) backwards and tying the arms around my neck. Turns out I can be Greek in a pinch. 



We also showed them a video from this year’s opening ceremony and some clips from different events to give them an overall idea of what the Olympics are about. The country leaders took part in passing the Olympic flame around, we gave some general guidelines for the games, and they left that night with a newfound enthusiasm for their countries. They also began the mantra, “Who are we? Olympians!” that carried on through the following weeks. 

On Friday we had our first competitions. Some teachers organized field events and countries participated in ball passing, climbing, rope skipping, javelin (frisbee), hurdles (shoe boxes), and two different relays. 






We boosted the Olympic spirit by painting the Olympic rings on as many cheeks as possible in those three hours. It was a good start to the games!




The second week of holiday, our event was a night scavenger hunt. Different adults hid around the compound and each one had to make the sound of a particular animal. The countries were each given a paper with the animals written in order. They had to find the animals in that order and get a sticker from each one before the other countries returned or the time ran out. For some, it was a good lesson in working together as a team. For others, is was an eye opener to me of how poorly some people work as a team. So we gave them more practice. 

As our craft that week, the participants worked together to make the Olympic rings. They decorated small yogurt containers in the five colors with paint and paper, and I strung them together with twine, using chopped-in-half toilet paper rolls to space them out. (That idea came from the two huge sacks of yogurt containers I had sitting in my house and a craft I found online on how to make a dragon out of paper cups.)


As we got to go swimming this holiday, our olympians also had competitions in the pool: swimming, a water relay, and not breathing. Swimming was a mix of running and swimming since not many of them actually know how to swim. In the relay, they had to run in waist-deep water while keeping their hands on their heads. I asked them beforehand if it was easier to run in water or on land. Most said water, so they had quite a shock when the race began. Not breathing was to see who could hold their breath the longest. No one drowned, so we were all winners! 


Of course not everyone is good at sports and games, so the events in the last week were brain games. They practiced spelling in an old-fashioned spelling bee and math in a counting game with dice. 


Throughout the holiday, I had been giving them facts about their countries, such as population, on which continent it is found, famous people from the country, and what languages are spoken. On the last day of holiday, they took a quiz to see how much they remembered from what had been given them. I was quite impressed with the results! Apparently they listen better than I thought. 

We always hold a disco on the last Friday of the holiday, so our final event was a dance-off between the countries. It is fun to see the ones who are too shy to dance, the ones who know how to dance well, and the ones who cannot dance at all but sure think they can. The last are by far the most entertaining. 


To wrap up the Olympic events, we held a closing ceremony. We gave gold medals to the country leaders for each event while they brandished their country flags for the last time. (Sometimes I wonder why people donate certain things to orphanages in Africa—like plastic medals—but it turns out they come in handy!) After announcing the winner of each event, it was time to tally up the overall scores. I have no idea how they do it in the real Olympics, but I gave the countries one point for every bronze medal, two for every silver and three for every gold and the country with the most points was the overall winner. We fashioned a winner’s podium out of picnic tables and chairs to celebrate their achievements. In the end, New Zealand took bronze, Kenya took silver, and China brought home the gold. As is tradition, we played the Chinese national anthem (which of course the children had never heard before) and as is not tradition gave them sparklers to hold (not too close to the grass roof) to symbolize the extinguishing of the Olympic torch. 


All in all, the children had fun and I would dare to say the Olympics were successful. 

As a bonus, a few days after the holiday a representative of the UN who is also on the Olympic Committee came to visit Noah’s Ark. We hung the rings again and the schoolchildren had another morning of competitions to show him some of the local games they like to play. He was enthusiastic about our program and it was good for the children to meet someone who has actually been to the Olympics. 



Now I am getting used to hearing sentences from the staff that begin with, “When we do the Olympics next year…”


Tuesday, August 23, 2016

as told by us

(Our story, as told by us to a group of one hundred teenagers last week.)

Once upon a time, in the glorious year of 1989, two babies were born. A girl…


And a boy…


And they had no idea that the other existed. 

Then on September 14, 2013, their paths crossed. That was the day I first arrived in Uganda. Different than the story we heard from the couple last week, we do not remember the day we met. 

No, it’s sad. 

Actually, that was when the German volunteer, Paul, was also here, and I used to get him and Uncle Christian mixed up for the first week. So I wasn’t even aware of who Christian was at the time. 

But then Papa asked us to start Teen Club—do many of you remember that? 


Before we had Ascending it was when we met in the hut on Papa’s side and did Bible study and games as a small group. Well, one thing you maybe didn’t know is that Teen Club always ended around 9:30 in the evening and you would all go home, but then Auntie Katie and I would usually stay and talk, sometimes until midnight or later. We were getting to know each other. 

We also did some things together while she was here that trip, like go to Kampala or hiking in Mabira Forest. We became pretty good friends, but I never thought of anything more than that because she was going back to America so there was nothing to think about. 

The day I left Noah’s Ark in 2013, we had our first hug. It was awful. Have any of you ever been hugged by Uncle Christian? It was half a second long and we barely touched each other and there was a child in between. And we had our first photo together. Lovely, right? 


A couple of months after I returned to America, I decided I wanted to come back to Noah’s Ark for a year. I called Papa to ask if it was okay and while we were talking, he said, “I know when you were here you and Christian really… clicked. Are you coming back to date Christian?” I was so shocked I cried. That was not why I wanted to come back. I mean, he’s fine and all, but that’s not why I wanted to come back. But apparently Papa saw something even before we did. 

She came back in July 2014 and we started Teen Club again. She moved into the house next to mine so we became neighbors. Have any of you ever seen Auntie Katie early in the morning reading her Bible on her verandah with her oil lamp? Well, she used to do that in the evenings. Lots of evenings I would go to turn on or off my hot water behind my house and then would stop and talk to her over the wall, sometimes for a few minutes… and sometimes for a few hours. We even have a photo of that:


It's dark because it was night.

I knew if he hopped up and sat on the wall then I had him for a long time. But can I be honest? At first I would go out there and it was nice if he stopped by. Then I would go out there hoping he would stop by. And a couple of times—but just a couple—I had already finished devotions and went out specifically so that he would stop by. But that only a happened a couple of times. 

Then can I be honest? Sometimes I knew I had already  turned my water off but wanted to go out “just to make sure…” 

Sometimes I would think of a question for him ahead of time and make it seem spontaneous when he walked by. 

Then for Easter of—was it 2015?—we were somehow put in charge of the Easter carols for primary school. 


That was a turning point for me. We spent a lot of time together for two or three weeks before carols, practicing music and working with the children, and that was when I realized… I often got butterflies when he walked by. And I liked to look at his face. Apparently I was starting to like him. 

I had no idea. I thought she was nice. 

We started spending more time together and becoming better friends, but then something bad happened. Auntie Katie was burned in a cooking accident, and her injuries were so bad she decided to go back to America for treatment. 


She couldn’t fly by herself, but her insurance paid for someone to escort her. She first asked Auntie Tamar because she is a doctor, but her mother was visiting so she couldn’t go. Then she asked Auntie Stefani, but Auntie Stefani is afraid of flying and when you need help flying, having someone who is scared isn’t such a good choice. So then I got to go! Really, I just wanted to go to America. 

Can I tell you something? 

Sure.

I never asked Tamar or Stefani if they could go. I just thought those were good reasons for why they couldn’t. You were my first choice. 

(aaaaws from the teenagers)

We flew back to America and I spent two days there. I thought once we got there she would be with her family and I would go do my own thing, but they wanted me to be there and wouldn’t let me go anywhere else, so in the emergency room, in the hospital, everywhere I got to spend with her family. 


He even took care of me. One morning he fed me pieces of bagel for breakfast because I couldn’t use my arms. 

And I got to see her house and where she grew up, her room, her hometown, so that was nice. And then after about two days I left. It was hard and I didn’t like to go, but I had to. But then she got this wonderful thing called WhatsApp! We could talk whenever we wanted, and in the two months we were apart before she came back, can you guess how many messages we sent back and forth? 

7,502.

My family made fun of me for talking to him so much. 

We talked about everything, but one thing we liked to do was find pickup lines to share with each other. Those are funny or weird things you say to someone as a way of telling them you like them. We shared ones like this: 


Also, when I first came back from IHK after my accident, he said he would give me a hug when I was well enough to receive one, so I waited for that, and we talked about it a lot. 


On August 11, she came back again and I picked her up from the airport. That hug was not so great. There were too many people around. That night she came over for supper and we picked up where we had left off. For more than a week, we stayed up until one, two, or three in the morning talking. Then one time we held hands. A couple days after that, I asked if I could walk her home, and when we got to her front step—don’t scream too loudly—I said, “Shall I kiss you now?”

(lots of screams)

And he kissed me for the first time. 

(more screams)

So that was the beginning of our relationship. 


We kept spending more time together and doing things, like leaving nice notes in each other’s houses for the other person to find when they got home. Here is one Auntie Katie left for me around Christmas last year:


It was the end of a ten-part poem and she had hidden all the pieces around my house for me to find and put together. That gave me butterflies.

I knew it was presumptuous to put “your future wife” on the note, but I was having a hard time thinking of something that rhymed and I knew he was coming home soon, so I risked it. 

We also went on a few dates. Sometime around our first date, we decided that we would give our relationship four dates and then decide whether to break up or get engaged. I can’t remember why we said that, but we thought it was a joke at the time. It was a weird thing to say. One one date we went to Kampala, one to Jinja, and one to Mabira Forest where we went zip lining, where you get hooked by a rope and a clip to a cable between trees and then slide down the cable really fast to the next one.  


Then we had our fourth date. Uncle Christian was planning that one and he kept it a secret. I had no idea what we were going to do. Last Thursday, he called a boda (motorcycle taxi) to meet us at the gate, and we got on… and then stayed on it for over an hour! I don’t even know where we were exactly—

—somewhere past Katosi, on Lake Victoria—

—yeah, there—and he had taken us to a high ropes course. That is a place where they have different obstacles you do up in the air, so they had rope ladders between trees that you had to cross, and more zip lines, and steps that moved and things like that. It was really fun. 



After we finished with that part, we had lunch in a hut there. To be honest, I was ready to go home, so when he called the boda driver to pick us up at three (by that time it was only a little after one) I was a bit disappointed. He said he wanted to go down to the beach—they had a very small beach on the lake—and I love beaches, so we walked down and went for a very short walk on the beach. 


It looked so nice in a photo I found on the internet, so it was a bit of a disappointment when we got down there and this is what it looked like. 

Then he asked if I wanted to remove my sandals because I like to walk barefoot in the sand, so of course I did. And then—this was the crazy part—he did too! Now, Uncle Christian hates sand. Hates it. 

I do, I hate it. 

So this was a big deal. Then we walked barefoot in the sand back and forth across the beach. I said something like “This has been a really good date” and he quickly asked, “So does that mean the date is over then?” I said no because we hadn’t yet reached home so we were still on the date. 

I knew we had said we would decide to break up or get engaged after our fourth date, but I couldn’t wait any longer. I wanted her to say the date was over so I could ask according to the “rules”, but it didn’t matter. I knew I wanted to marry her and there was no point in waiting any longer to ask. 

So he got down on one knee, in the sand—

in the sand!

and held out a ring and asked me to marry him. 



And she said…

Yes! 

After a long time. 

It didn’t take that long. 

(screaming again)


So, that is how we got from there to here, and our plan now is to live happily ever after. 


Tuesday, August 9, 2016

Stone Soup

When I was in kindergarten, we made stone soup. I brought the carrots. I don’t remember what else was in the soup, where we made it, or what it tasted like. I do remember my snack-sized Ziplock bag full of carrots cut by my mom. That’s all. 

Sometimes it’s easy to focus on those small things. 

Recently inspired by that kindergarten cooking class, I reenacted the stone soup story with groups of children as part of the holiday program. With Christian as narrator, the children as villagers and myself as the wise old woman, we told the following story: 

——————————

There once was an old and very wise woman who traveled around the country. She did not have a home. She did not even have a bed in which to sleep. Everything she had fit into a bandana tied to the end of a stick. Inside the bandana she carried a book, a toothbrush, a key (though she did not know what it unlocked), some money from a country to which she had never been, and a stone. 

The woman traveled from village to village. Some days she walked, some days she danced, and on Tuesdays she skipped. 

One day she was walking through a big forest. She looked up but could not see the tops of the trees, they were so tall. As she looked up, her stomach rumbled. It had been some time since she last ate and she had no food with her, so she wandered through the forest until she found a village. Upon reaching the edge of the small village, she knocked on the door of the nearest house. 

A beet farmer named Dwight opened the door. He looked big and grumpy. Behind him stood his wife and three children. 

The wise lady explained that she had walked, skipped and danced from village to village and that now she was very hungry.  She asked if the man could spare some food. The man, his wife and his children all replied, “No, we have only cabbage and it is not enough.” 


So the wise lady danced to the next house. She knocked on the door with a big smile. 

A tall man named Jim opened the door. His hair was messed but his clothes were clean. He had a lovely wife and two daughters. 

Again the wise lady explained that she had no home and no bed and that she was very hungry. She asked if the man could give her some food, but the whole family answered, “No, we have only carrots and they are not enough.”

The lady became a bit disappointed, but she skipped on to the next house. It was a very big house. 

She knocked and a man named Oscar answered the door. He lived in the big house with his five brothers. 

The lady told the same story again, how she had walked through the big forest and saw trees that were very tall, and that she found this village. It was the end of the day and she was hungry. She asked politely for some food. All the brothers came to the door and said, “No, we have only potatoes and they are not enough.” 

The wise lady was still hungry and more tired. She walked to the next home, dragging her feet. She knocked on the very small door. It opened and a woman named Angela answered. It appeared that she lived with many, many cats. She seemed very sweet. The wise lady thought this woman would give her food for sure! But the lady and all her cats meowed, “No, we have only broth and it is not enough.” 

There was only one house left in the village. The old woman was tired and hungry. Slowly she walked to the next house, though it was more of a shuffle than a walk. In the yard she saw a large pot over a fire. 

“These people must be cooking!” thought the lady. She got excited and knocked enthusiastically. 

A young girl named Pam opened the door. She lived with her father and mother. They were all wearing clothes made of paper. 

The wise lady explained that she had gone to all the houses in the village to ask for food but no one had helped her. She asked for food one more time, but the girl, her father and mother said, “No, we have only onions and it is not enough.” 

Then the wise lady said, “In that case, can I use your pot, your fire and your water to make stone soup?” 

The family did not understand. “You will make a soup out of stones?” 

“Yes,” the wise lady replied as she removed the stone from her bandana-bag. “This is a special stone and it can make delicious soup!” 

The family became curious and wanted to see if the woman really could make soup out of a stone. She began by putting the stone in the pot with water. She stirred and stirred, then smelled the soup. “Yes, this soup will taste wonderful!” she said. “But with just a few onions it would be even better.” 


The family of the small girl said, “We have onions! Let us add them!” So the family cleaned, peeled, and cut the onions into small pieces. They brought them to the wise lady and she added them to the soup. 

Then the farmer named Dwight saw the group standing around the pot and he became curious as well. He wandered over to ask what was going on. 

“We are making stone soup, and it will be delicious!” said the wise lady as she tasted the soup. “Now if only we had some cabbage it would be twice as good.”

The farmer, who had not had soup in a long time, rushed home. He washed his cabbage, cut it into pieces, and then cut those pieces into pieces. He ran back to the old lady and she added it to the soup.


“Oh yes, this soup will be delightful,” she said as she stirred and stirred. 

Then the tall man named Jim and his family also joined the group. They were wondering how the soup would taste so nice. 

“Oh, this stone is very special,” said the woman. “It adds flavor. But with some carrots it would be even nicer!” 

So the tall man named Jim went home and found some carrots. He and his family washed the carrots and cut them in half, then cut the halves into pieces and added them to the soup. 


By then Oscar and his brothers had also come. They smelled the lovely soup and wondered how it had gotten so nice. The wise lady told them the stone was what did the trick, but that adding some potatoes would make the good soup perfect. 

So Oscar went back home with his brothers. They cleaned the potatoes, peeled them, and cut them into small, small pieces. One of his brothers brought them to the woman and she added them to the bubbling soup. 



It was almost suppertime and the whole village had come to see what was cooking. 

“The stone soup is almost ready,” said the wise old lady. “We could eat it as is, but if only we had some broth it would become the best soup in the world!” 

The cat lady named Angela remembered she had some broth at home. She rushed to get it and poured it into the pot of soup. 

The wise lady stirred and stirred, jumped and stirred, and danced and stirred, until finally she tasted the soup. 


“It is perfect!” she exclaimed. “It is the best soup I have ever tasted!” The whole village shared the soup, and there was more than enough for everyone. They filled bowl after bowl, cup after cup until all that was left at the bottom of the pot was the stone. The people went to bed satisfied, and Jim invited the old woman to stay with him and his family for the night. 


The following morning the wise old lady was getting ready to travel ahead. The whole village gathered to wish her farewell. 

“Thank you for the soup,” they said. “It was delicious!”

The old lady removed the stone from her bandana-bag and gave it to the smallest girl in the family with paper clothes. 

“Keep this stone,” she said. “It will work forever to make stone soup… just don’t forget to add onions, cabbage, carrots, potatoes, and some broth!” 

The villagers were grateful and sent their guest off with smiles and waves. As the wise woman danced and skipped into the distance, she paused to pick up a new stone and put it in her bag. 



——————————

I will admit, sometimes it feels like the work I do here isn't worth much. I mean, it’s not like I am the worship leader in church or a teacher at school or in charge of finding children to sponsor in the village. One day I told Christian, “You actually know how to do real things. I just teach kids to read so they can learn how to do real things.” 

I think we all want to be the stone. Yet in our desire, we forget that the stone is only inspiration, not substance. The people added their bit and they made something great. So what’s your bit? What’s mine? How do we fit into Noah’s Ark and the greater church? 

Some days I’m just a carrot. But I think that’s enough.