Traveling

Nantucket lighthouse

The end of things is never easy. This past week, I enjoyed several days away on the island of Nantucket. I found rest in biking around the sunny island, putting my bare feet in warm sand, spending time with friends, and reading silly and serious books. I relished the days away, and found myself longing to stretch them out.

Yet, they did come to an end, and I have come back to the reality of my everyday responsibilities. I looked forward to my time in Nantucket and I had an amazing time while I was there. After all the anticipation of going and the delight of being there, I found it sad to leave.

I think my journey to Nantucket has, in a small way, mirrored my experience of Easter this year. I spent much of this Lenten season reflecting on the cross, and why it matters to me and to a broken world. I reflected on the benefits offered to us because Christ “did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but made himself nothing.” I looked forward to resurrection day and Jesus’ victory over death. And then, on Easter morning, I rejoiced to say “He is risen indeed.” I celebrated in church, feasted with friends, and remembered that death is not the end of the story.

And now I find myself, on the rainy Tuesday after Easter, feeling like the celebration long anticipated is over. Like remembering the resurrection was a pause in normal life, but now I have to get back to back to my everyday responsibilities.

I don’t really think that is the best way to mark Easter.  Though in some ways Easter is the end of somethings, much more it reveals the beginning of things, of all things being made new. 

One of the books I was reading last week suggested that in the same way we consider giving something up for lent, we should consider adding something to our lives for the days following Easter. It said that life viewed in light of the resurrection should be marked by more prayer and more parties. Prayer that longs to draw near to the Father and see His kingdom coming, and parties that celebrate places where tastes of his kingdom are already here. 

So, I guess that’s all the encouragement I need to take more trips to Nantucket, or enjoy more celebrations with friends, or to look for opportunities on rainy, responsible Tuesdays to live in the hope of the resurrection.

“The frustrating thing, as always, is that I don’t know and you don’t know how God is going to do new things here, in our own lives or our own communities. That is why we need to cling on for dear life to the story of Jesus, and to learn as best we can to see the story of our community, and the story of our personal lives, like two musical lines held in between the story of Jesus and the deep notes of the Old Testament which explain it and give it depth. And that is why we shall stand at the foot of the cross on Good Friday, to bring our griefs and sorrows, our bereavements and our puzzlement, to the one who has gone down into the darkness on our behalf. And as we learn to do that for ourselves, for our neighbors, for our community, we learn the lesson which we as Christian folk need to learn again and again: that unless a grain of wheat falls to the earth and dies it remains a single grain, but if it dies it will bear much fruit.”   NT Wright, Christians at the Cross

I’m slipping away until Easter, but hope that the rest of this week finds you clinging to the story of Jesus as you listen for the music of redemption and resurrection. 

Recently, I spent the weekend in Murfreesboro, visiting my family and speaking at Trinity Pres.’ missions conference. It was a wonderful time in Tennessee. I ate sushi with my dad, walked on the greenway with my mom, had lunch with Sarah B, and enjoyed connecting with people at the conference. 

After the church dinner Friday night, my mom and I stopped by the local Kroger to get OJ for the ladies’ brunch. Imagine my surprise when, stuck somewhere between the toothpaste and the toaster streudel, I saw The Prodigal God by Tim Keller. 

I must admit, I was surprised. And not in a good way.

Sometimes, I am a bit of a snob. I often think that something is better simply because it is obscure. This is true of music, health foods, clothing brands, and especially books.

Perhaps you understand my problem. I like Tim Keller. I like his sermons, and I enjoyed reading The Prodigal God. Now, they are selling his book in the Kroger right next 100 Inspirational Quotes for Your Troubled Teen (OK-I don’t know if that is a real book, but it was something like that). And so I wondered, “Did I get wrong? Is TK only as profound as inspirational quotes for troubled teens? Should I rethink my position on his book?”

I realized that much of my life is reflected in that visit to the grocery store. I keep looking for insights and clues to God’s work in the world. I take seminary classes and read never-heard-of books and think I will get closer to God if I can only feel smarter. If something seems too obvious, I am suspicious.

But most often, God’s work shows up somewhere between the toothpaste and the toaster streudel. God’s not hiding in the dusty Westminster library. “For since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen.” How often I miss what is clearly seen because I don’t think I can kind what I need in the Kroger.

This weekend, I had a small seder celebration with some friends. A meal that reminds us that hope is hidden in everyday things. Bitter herbs and salt water to remind us of the bitter slavery and the tears of the Israelites. Wine and a feast to remind us that God brings His children out of slavery and sadness and into a celebration. A cherished group of friends that reminds us that God gives us family all along the way. And a lamb bone to remind us that this movement from sadness to celebration can come only because of the ultimate sacrifice of Another.

Through the celebration, there is one place left open, one glass unfilled. This place is set for Elijah, who is expected to return announcing the coming of Messiah. Near the end of the evening, a child goes and opens the door, looking to see if Elijah has come. I found myself expecting someone to be there, looking for someone to come in. 

I’ve carried that image of the open door with me. As we celebrate Palm Sunday today and anticipate Good Friday and Easter Sunday, I want to continue to leave space for Elijah moments. May there always be an open door to my heart, and an open place at my table that expects evidence of the returning Messiah.

May we all open our lives in expectation that the Kingdom is coming quickly. And may we encounter, and truly see, precursors to the returning King everywhere from the dinner table to the aisles of the local Kroger. 

Spring is coming out in spurts and then disappearing, so I have to take the warm weather when I can get it. This afternoon, the morning’s rain rolled away to reveal sunny skies and 70 degree weather.

I contemplated going for a run, but made the wise choice to hit up Philly Flavors instead.   The Bradford family came too, which was great because they are awesome, and also because they have 6 boys, so I could act like the excitement over the ice cream was “for the kids.” I actually don’t think I fooled anyone but myself into thinking there was selflessness involved in my ice cream consumption.

On the way, they asked what I would do in Mundri when I wanted water ice or ice cream. My obvious answers were dream about it or try to make some homemade version of my own. But, on further reflection, I think the best plan is to convince Philly Flavors to set up a small satellite store near my new house in Mundri. I mean, I eat enough in one summer to keep them in business, and I’m sure others in the area would also delight in banana split water ice or mango gelato. 

As I continue to get ready for Sudan, I enjoy the unplanned times of sweetness and community and lots of water ice, in case it takes longer than I hope for Philly Flavors to show up in Mundri.

As quickly as it came, the warm weather ran away again. Catharine and I got caught in a crazy hailstorm (I think I might be bruised) and had to book it back to the Bradfords, looking sheepishly for a ride after getting soaked in the rain and pounded by the hail for about a minute and a half. I got home thoroughly soaked but grateful for sunshine and friendships in between the storms and hoping to not get caught in hail again any time soon. 

In an ordinary day of studying, cooking, walking with friends, and looking for signs of redemption, I appreciate the words of Annie Dilliard:

You cannot mend the chromosome, quell the earthquake, or stanch the flood. You cannot atone for dead tyrants’ murders, and you alone cannot stop living tyrants… The world of ordinary days ‘affords’ us that precise association with God that redeems both us and our speck of the world…Here and now, presumably, an ordinary person would approach with holy and compassionate intention the bank, the car pool, the God-help-us television, the retirement account, the car, the desk, the keys…’It is given to men to lift up the fallen and to free the imprisoned. Not merely to wait, not merely to look on! Man is able to work for the redemption of the world.’ The work is not yours to finish, Rabbi Tarfon said, but neither are you free to take no part in it.-For the Time Being

Whatever you’re up to today, may you approach it with “holy and compassionate intention,” seeing opportunities to lift up the fallen and free the imprisoned. And may you, like me on this quiet afternoon waiting for slow-cooked soup and cornbread, be surprised by the beauty and hope found in ordinary days.  

As winter chills slowly give way to spring, I found myself feeling a bit blue. To fight off the funkiness, I bolted to NYC with Sarah and Arlene for 24 hours of talking, eating, walking by the Hudson, and enjoying time together as we took time away. 

I love the anonymity of New York. I loved the Moroccan stew I had for dinner, my free LUSH hand treatment on the street, and especially baked goods from Magnolia’s (devil’s food cupcake with cream cheese frosting and coconut: Amazing!). And, I loved coming home to catch-up conversation with Catharine, the familiarity of my neighborhood, and the excitement of a new dishwasher.

Sometimes, it the little things that pull you out of yourself and back to reality. Time lingering over coffee with a friend, sunshine through the window, a good night’s sleep, a new book, and even getting away for the weekend. 

I apologize for my blog quietness in this transition time of figuring out what it means to be not a student, not an office employee, not a whirlwind. As I get ready for Mundri in the future and yet live here and now, I have found it hard to know what to say. But, as we all know, I rarely stay wordless for too long. So, for now, though I may have bolted away for a bit, I’m back. Hope you have been finding your own tastes of grace among friends, travels, books, and cupcakes.

“The last two hours of the journey left me restless and confused…I began to wonder if I had engaged in the wrong kind of giving, and I devoted my thoughts to this matter as we completed the final leg of our retreat to the land of a million padlocks. It now seemed clear to me that giving is something which should be done on a daily basis to those all around us, in terms of time, consideration, and love. The problem is that in certain situations we give carelessly and, by so doing, we unwittingly upset the gentle economic balance of society. For instance, back in the bar in Yambio we had paid for our beers with a twenty-dollar bill and this had immediately begun to alert the greedy and opportunistic in the community. As a direct consequence of our ‘generosity’ another bar was immediately opened especially for us with a view of enabling us to be generous once again. How much of this money would have filtered through to the rest of the community?…Our gesture had looked generous, but it had been too easy…Time and love, these are the greatest gifts of all.

-Tony Hawks, A Song for Sudan

“Blessed be the Lord, who daily bears us up; God is our salvation.” Psalm 68:19

This time last week, I was biking with Karen and Liana around the winding dirt roads of Mundri, looking for adventure in the form of shea butter from the local lulu works processing plant. I tried to shout out greetings in Moru, getting quizzical looks and a few laughs. The week before that, I was enjoying life in Bundibugyo and getting royally beaten at “5 Crowns” by Jennifer and the Myhre kids after a lunch of matooke and gnuts with Asita.

Today, not much seems to remain of last couple of weeks except the fading remnant of a Chaco tan on my feet and the red dust that stubbornly coats my shoes and duffel bag.

I arrived back in Philadelphia on Saturday, and have clumsily sought to re-engage in life here. Changes big and small happened in the short time I was gone: my pastor’s family welcomed their sixth son into the world, a Septa bus hit the back of my car, Catharine celebrated her birthday.

Two nights ago, the the sky opened up and snowed. After a remarkably warm weekend, snow came on Tuesday and it snowed all day. As Arlene and I were leaving the liberti office in the evening, the snow was coming in big flakes and collecting on the ground. It was a bit surreal to be in freezing temperatures only a few days after leaving the sweltering climate of Mundri. As I walked with Arlene, talking about the day and counseling ideas and my time in East Africa, I was struck again by God’s daily goodness to us.

I cherished my time in Uganda and Sudan, and my visit made me even more excited to return next year. I often have trouble returning to the US, with its busyness and disconnectedness and cold weather. But, this week, I’ve gotten a glimpse of the goodness of returning to life in America and also of the daily sustaining work of the Lord. I need the grace of God just as much to carry me back into life here as I need it to sustain me in Africa. I’ve felt the grace of God in a powerful sermon at church on Sunday, in the love of kind friends, in time spent dwelling on Psalm 68, and even in the beauty of falling snow.

My life looks really different here: my feet are heavily socked instead of sandaled, and there’s not a lot of red dust stirred up when I’m on the road. But, I still see the daily kindness of God sustaining me and calling me into what He has here and now. Whether in the lush greenness of Bundibugyo, the red dustiness of Mundri, or the soft snowiness of Philadelphia, may we all have eyes to see the beauty of the One who daily bears us up.

“Awesome is God from his sanctuary; the God of Israel—he is the one who gives power and strength to his people. Blessed be God!” Psalm 68:35

Peanut butter at the market

Originally uploaded by bethanygrace2

After a whirlwind trip, I am back in Kampala, and so thankful for my time in Mundri with the Massos. While I was there, I talked and talked with Michael and Karen, met with other people from the area, laughed, went to the market, played games until missionary midnight (10 pm), and prayed for the new team of people coming together to work with WHM in Southern Sudan. Michael and Karen and their kids have really made Mundri their home, and have settled into a bit of routine. It was a delight to be with them and to dream about what life could look like for me as I join their team more permanently later this year. I’ll write more soon about the things I saw and the stories I heard in Sudan. Tomorrow, I head out for London and then America. I’m already missing sunshine and flip-flop weather, and I haven’t even left yet!

Safe journey

Originally uploaded by bethanygrace2

I made it to Kampala in the late afternoon, after a lovely ride across Uganda. I had last hugs and goodbyes in Bundi, never fun, but less difficult as they seem less permanent. Scott drove me as far as Fort Portal, and I marveled again at the magnificence of the Rwenzoris. After the rain of the last several days, we had a clear morning, and the beauty of the mountains draped in the patchwork green of gardens and wildness was breathtaking. I saw monkeys on the way to Kampala, stopped for mangoes and muchomo, and had a fairly quiet ride since today is a national holiday and there wasn’t much traffic on the road or in the city.
After a few errands, I ended up at the ARA where I’ve been sorting my luggage and trying to keep my bag light for my morning flight to Mundri. The MAF pilot is supposed to swing by and get me at 5:45 am. Right now, I’m getting nervous about oversleeping and getting left behind!
I am excited to see the Massos, and spend time in Mundri. I would appreciate your prayers for my time there.