Traveling

I am not always a very graceful person. One of my adjustments to life here is getting used to having a toilet and shower outside of my house. Most of the time this isn’t a big deal, but sometimes at night, the thought of walking across the yard to go to the bathroom is a little unsettling.

Recently, I went to the latrine at night, and all of a sudden, I watched my flashlight begin to fall from its precarious perch on top of the toilet paper holder. And then, everything went dark.

Now, it is not my ideal scenario to be feeling around on the latrine floor in the pitch black. Especially when there are rumors of a red snake living in our latrine. Thankfully, I quickly located my flashlight, but unfortunately, it was not as heavy when I picked it up because two of the three batteries had slipped out of the flashlight and rolled to a place of no return. This left me fumbling in the dark and stumbling back to my tukul, where I was able to use my mobile phone as a light until I could get new batteries the next day.

I just have to laugh at the whole situation, and hope to become a little more adept at using a light in the darkened latrine. And, I’m thinking I should have brought a couple of back-up flashlights in case next time the flashlight goes the way of the batteries. I’m thankful for laughter as I drop things, stumble in the dark (and sometimes in full daylight), and learn my way around.

The search for a language tutor has continued for me here. I recently went with Kim to visit a family she knows, and as we sat outside talking and playing cards, a neighbor stopped by and joined us in the game. Because she spoke English pretty well. I asked her if she would consider helping me learn Moru. She laughed at me when I asked, and seemed to wonder if I was serious. But, she said she would think about it and let me know.

Then yesterday, Kim and I biked over to visit the same family, and on the way we saw “Q,” the woman I had asked to help me learn language. She was standing in front of a house not too far away, so I waved at her and started heading over to greet her.

As I got closer, I realized that I wasn’t so sure anymore that the woman I was waving at was actually “Q.” But, Kim had continued on to visit her friends, and at this point I had waved at the woman pretty vigorously, so I couldn’t do anything except push my bike through the tall grass until I ended up in her yard. She pulled up a plastic chair and invited me to sit down.

We greeted one another, she looked into my face, and then asked, “Do you know me?” To which I had to honestly say, “No-I don’t know you at all.” Turns out my dust-filled contacts betrayed me, and I mistook this very nice woman for “Q.”

I explained who I was looking for, and she just started laughing because it turns out that “Q” is this woman’s aunt, and her compound was the next one over. She kept laughing and then called for her aunt. We walked over to “Q’s” house with this girl telling everyone along the way that I had mistaken her for her aunt.

In the end, “Q” was flattered that I would mistake her niece for her since there is a bit of an age difference. I sat in “Q’s” piat (gazebo), drinking Tang and talking about life and language and Jesus. She has agreed to help me start learning Moru this week, so Thursday will be my first lesson.

I guess it is a good way to start out: making mistakes, being laughed at, realizing I don’t know as much as I think I do. At least it can be sweetened by the kindness of strangers, the shade of a cool piat, and tall glasses of Tang.

When you are hurrying and rushing, or when you stumble over something, you may hear someone say “ferre-ferre,” which means, “slowly-slowly.” And that is how my life is starting off here in Mundri: slowly-slowly. I’m starting off with lots of questions about life and culture, with times of reflection and prayer, and with my tongue tangling over new words. I’m tagging along with my teammates, and learning to cook and clean, and engaging in the battle to keep bugs, rodents, and frogs from taking over the house.

Part of  going slowly involves sitting with new friends: a family who have been dear friends to my roommate Kim, a woman who works as a counselor throughout Southern Sudan, teachers, and leaders in the church. The kindness of this new community is shown in gestures of generosity. Tea with sugar, or local oranges, or even full meals are offered to me as I sit with people and hear about their lives. I’m grateful for the time to take tea, and to take the first tentative steps of friendship.

I also realize how much of my identity can be wrapped up in what I can do, or what I can offer. And right now, there’s not that much I can do or offer. As I feel the neediness of being new, I taste grace in these cups of tea.

I hope I can continue to have patience as I look for my place here, and that I will be OK going “slowly-slowly.” I am also hoping to find someone who will be patient enough to sit with me in language learning, so please pray for someone to be able to help me move forward, ferre-ferre, in learning Moru. And even though I know I need to go slowly, I would still like to have someone come soon to help me learn language.

My tukul

Originally uploaded by bethanygrace2

As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in me. I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing…These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full.
-John 15: 4,5,11

Do you wonder where the self resides/Is it in your head or between your sides/And who will be the one who would decide its true location
Andrew Bird, “Dark Matter”

Moving to a new place is such an unsettling experience. You have to learn everything again. There is no order or pattern to how you start your day, or cook your meals, or spend your time. You don’t have the reassurance of previous days to help you figure out the structure and supports of today.

I realized yesterday that I have spend the last 5 Mondays in different states or countries: Tennessee, Wisconsin, Pennsylvania, Uganda, and then Sudan. And each of those Mondays was spent doing really different things: saying goodbye to family and friends, studying at a counseling conference, wrapping up a season of life in Pennsylvania, reconnecting to life in Africa, and settling into a new home. And now, I look forward to five Mondays of waking up in the same place, of trying to build up and carve out a place here, searching for a little routine and stability.

One benefit of moving is that it makes you reexamine what offers you security, safety, and stability. In other words, what makes you feel at home. I often find confidence in knowing what to do next or by being familiar surroundings. Being here in Mundri is great because I don’t know what to do next or what to expect. I can say little more than “hello” and “thank you.”

And, as uncomfortable as it can be to be new, it is also good because it shows me how I often mistake trusting in myself for abiding in Christ. It is easy to substitute creating comfortable spaces around me for actually abiding in Him. As I build relationships with my teammates, seek friendships with neighbors, look for someone to help me learn language, and try to find a place here; I need to remember that the place I really reside is always connected to my Heavenly Father. Unless I am abiding in Him, I can’t do anything. Learning to abide leads to fruitfulness and fullness of joy. So, pray for me to abide here, to feel at home not just because surroundings and routine become familiar, but because of the stability of a life rooted in Christ.

After many days, many flights, and much anticipation, I have finally landed in Mundri, my new home. It was wonderful to see the Massos, Kim, Christine, and Larissa waving as my plane landed in Mundri. The team here has been so welcoming, inviting me right into life and making me feel cared for and included. I’ve been unpacking, trying to figure out e-mail and internet, walking and biking around, and realizing how much I have to learn. Please pray for my transition to draw me closer to Jesus and my teammates, for God to quickly provide a language helper, and for the Spirit to be at work in my heart and in the lives of the people of Mundri.

Bodas

Originally uploaded by bethanygrace2

Kampala always surprises me. I forget the noise, and the busyness, and amount of time it takes to get one thing done. When I leave Kampala, I remember the tasty restaurants, and the prevalence of English speakers, and the availability of a movie theater and hot showers. But for some reason, I always forget how busy and hectic it is, and how that sometime makes me cranky.

I spent the last couple of days in Kampala, trying to set up a bank account and apply for a work permit, and spending time with my friend Pat. The work permit was an interesting experience, as I rode all over town on motorcycle taxis called boda-bodas. I went to immigration, interpol, the police training school, back to interpol, back to immigration, to a meeting with the NGO secretary within immigration, and back to the regular immigration office where I finally handed in all my paperwork. So, hopefully all the running around will mean I have a work permit approved when I go back to the office in January.

After all of that, it was the middle of rush hour, and I decided to stay in town and watch a movie rather than sit in traffic trying to get to the guesthouse where I was staying. Pat was on her way back to Bundibugyo, and the next day I was heading to Mundri and away from movie theaters for several months, so the movie theater seemed like the best way to spend my last night in the big city.

In the car after the movie, the power went out in Kampala. This is not uncommon, but can cause difficulty if it means a traffic light goes out. There were some traffic jams, which frustrated my taxi driver, but the slowness gave me a moment to pause and notice Kampala in a new way.

With the lights out, hundreds of dukas and shops were lit with small candles and kerosene lanterns. People bought vegetables and meat on their way home, and kids laughed and danced around in the lamp light. For a moment, after a long day of focusing on what I thought I needed to do, I was able to see the beauty of Kampala. So many families, so many stories within the light of those lanterns.

Earlier, while I waited to speak with the NGO secretary, the man in front of me said he was like a stone. That while others would get annoyed, and want to rush and not be still; he was steady and solid like a stone and able to wait without getting flustered. I kind of laughed at this because it seemed directed at my obvious impatience.

We listened to a sermon in Bundibugyo this week that mentioned I Peter 2:5, which says that we as Christians are living stones being built into a spiritual house. So, maybe my days in Kampala were making me a little more stone-like, more able to wait and be patient in the face of annoying paperwork and lots of running around. I hope I can more readily see the light and beauty of wherever I am, rather than getting caught up in impatience about the task at hand. And, I hope to have more of a vision for the building work that God is doing in my life and in the world.

They are all taller than me now

Originally uploaded by bethanygrace2

“Blessed is the man who walks not in the counsel of the wicked, nor stands in the way of sinners, nor sits in the seat of scoffers; but his delight is in the law of the Lord and on it he meditates day and night. He is like a tree planted by streams of water that yields its fruit in its season, and its leaf does not wither. In all he does, he prospers.” Psalm 1:1&2.

As soon as I hopped out of the MAF airplane and onto the Bundibugyo airstrip, I was greeted with smiles, hugs, and the shocking realization that Jack Myhre is now taller than me. Every recent visit to Uganda has been marked by Jack comparing our heights, and this time, I was somehow the shorter one.

Being a teacher is a funny thing. You get to spend a year, or two if you’re lucky, intensely working with a group of students and rejoicing when you see growth and change in the things they know. Moving through chapter books, mastering long division, memorizing states and capitals: this was the sort of growth I measured and looked for when I taught elementary school.

But, the hard thing about teaching is that you don’t always get to see bigger changes in the lives of your students because you’re with them such a short time. I wonder sometimes about kids I’ve taught. What choices will they make? How will the potential I see shining in them manifest itself as they grow up?

So, even though I laugh to see Jack (at the ripe old age of 11) being taller than me, I still count it a privilege to see his growth. Moving back to Africa is allowing me to see growth and change in the lives of these sweet kids who were why I first came to Africa 6 years ago. To see them serving their families, caring for their friends, walking a tight-rope of cross-cultural relationships, and doing it all with lots of laughter is amazing to me. Of course, its hard to see their growth expose them to the difficulties of a broken a world. I wish all of their concerns were as simple as mastering long-division or reading chapter books.

I spent some time on Saturday planting trees with Jack and Julia. I don’t actually know anything about planting trees, so unfortunately I don’t think they’re going to do very well. As we dug and planted and watered, I thought about how God talks about faith. How He says that when we delight in the law of the Lord, we prosper and yield fruit and don’t wither. We become like trees. And just like trees, sometimes it’s easier to see the growth in one when you’ve been away from it for awhile than when you look at it every day.

So, I’m glad to be back in Africa, and to see growth in so many places, but especially in the lives of these kids. It gives me hope for change in my own heart, and a desire to be more rooted down in the law of the Lord so that I will bear fruit and not wither in Sudan. I guess it is right, now that they are taller than me, that they should also be encouraging my growth. I look forward to seeing more change in their lives, and in my own.

Greeting Joyce

Originally uploaded by bethanygrace2

I landed back in Uganda a little less than a week ago, and in the strange way of time moving through my jetlagged brain, I feel as though I have been here much longer than a week. I spent Wednesday in Kampala, trying unsuccessfully to set up a bank account and doing other errand-like activities.

Thursday brought me back to Bundibugyo, and I had a wonderful weekend connecting with old friends, meeting new friends, tripping over once-familiar Lubwisi phrases, and delighting in the beauty of the mountains and lots of green. Of course, the children have grown, people have moved into different houses, there are new buildings, and there are even power lines here now.

And yet, much in Bundibugyo feels surprisingly familiar, so it has been a little respite before moving into the unknown of Sudan. I am thankful for the reminder that God maintains friendships, and that He can give us tastes of home even in the middle of transitions. And I am thankful for the Myhres, Pat, Heidi, and the rest of the WHM team who make me feel like family even over a short stay.

I will spend the next couple of days in Kampala, and then I fly to Southern Sudan on Thursday. I look forward to a now unfamiliar place beginning to feel like home, and I long for the sustaining, steadfast love of the Lord to be the rock under my feet as I finally land in Mundri.

How do you walk your way through goodbyes? I find myself stumbling over them. I want normalcy in life, for things to feel as if they are a little permanent. This can make things difficult when I am in the midst of a major move and pretty much nothing seems settled. During this year of preparing for Southern Sudan, little has felt normal or routine. And the last few weeks especially have flown by in a flurry of people, packing, and traveling around.

I have gotten a few sweetly ordinary moments in the last few days. Tonight, after a lovely day full of many of my favorite people and things, I came home to finish packing for tomorrow’s flight to Uganda. I sat with my roommates here, and savored a night that felt like so many others I’ve spent in this house, full of conversation, laughter, music, and hot apple cider.

Goodbyes are so hard. Even though I am more than excited to be going back to Africa, I am sad for the distance this leaving causes between me and those I care about. And I wonder what I am leaving behind as I go. What will friendships look like over such a great distance? How will I stay connected to my family from so far away?

I was glad to have one more Sunday at my church here in Philadelphia. Our last song today was one of my favorite hymns, O Love That Wilt Not Let Me Go. One stanza says, “ O Joy that seekest me through pain, I cannot close my heart to thee; I climb the rainbow in the rain, And feel the promise is not vain, That morn shall tearless be.” I, like many others who love this hymn, resonate with the image of climbing the rainbow in the rain as we cling to the promises of God in the middle of the tears of life.

I doubt that my literal tomorrow will tearless be. But, I feel ready to leave for Sudan tomorrow because I believe that there is a coming morning that will dawn tearless. I feel ready to say goodbye to the life God has so richly given me here because I believe He goes with me to Sudan and more because I trust Him to care for my family and friends as I go. And, I get the added benefit of leaving what I dearly love here but getting to go to people and places I dearly love in Africa.

So now, with my roommates asleep and tomorrow already starting, I am savoring the last few minutes of my last night here. Next time I write these goodbyes will be over, and I will be settling back into like in Africa. But for now, I would appreciate your prayers for my leaving to be filled with faith in the One who promises a coming day of no more tears, no more goodbyes, and no more leaving.

Today is the birthday of Edward Estlin Cummings. It also marks 2 weeks until my feet land back in East Africa. It’s easy to try to look too far ahead in the mad rush of packing and planning, but I want to enjoy what is right here in front of me.

Here is a poem by E.E. as a reminder to enjoy today and to see in fresh ways how our little place on the earth points us to what is infinite:

i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday;this is the birth
day of life and love and wings:and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any-lifted from the no
of all nothing-human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)