In my last post, I told you that I would introduce my other travel buddy. Well, his name is James and he is both incredibly intelligent and incredibly diplomatic. There were several instances when we needed to communicate our slight disapproval of something, or to make a request of someone, and we left it to James to do the "talking". Each time we got what we needed without any feathers being ruffled. This, along with his ability to speak French, saved our lives (or at least our flights) on our way out of town.
It was about thirty minutes into our drive to the airport that we noticed we were approaching a street of stopped vehicles. Oh, a traffic jam! We knew these things happened in the DRC--that is what you usually leave for the airport 4-5 hours before your flight. Our travel company had been a few minutes late, but we still left our apartment with what we thought was plenty of time. We looked at the clock in the van, 10:45. No big deal: the airline did not even start check-ins until 11:00 am. So, we continued to chat and wait. After about thirty minutes, we noticed our scenery had not changed at all. We were literally moving 5 yards every 5 minutes. The traffic was stopped up a hill as far as we could see.
I will stop here, in my first aside, to give a quick cultural lesson. The DRC is a country that has a long history of being on the wrong side of colonialism. Until the 1960s, the DRC was a Belgian territory. Since that time, it has been the victim of attempts by countries (or independent rebel groups) to take over regions of the area. Currently, China has moved in to develop roads in the capitol and renovate its government buildings. Why? I am certain there are some valid, redeemable reasons in the mind of those who move into the region, but it cannot be ignored that the DRC is RICH with resources that would be valuable to any country (currently, a huge store of items needed to build most of the technologies we currently enjoy). When I asked a Congolese person how they felt about the Chinese influence, he said, "Well, people are going to steal from us anyway. We might as well get something in return."
So, with that said, we were stuck on a road that had received a facelift from Chinese redevelopment. This facelift allowed six lanes of traffic to travel one way--the way we were going--and two lanes of traffic to travel the other. The problem: a bridge about 400 yards ahead had not yet been renovated, and it only allowed one lane of traffic in either direction. There was no way we would make it through this traffic before our departure time at 2:00, and perhaps not even before sundown.
Like many other parts of the world, the Congolese traffic does not travel in neat lanes. Cars move where there is space. So, there were cars, trucks, van and semi-trucks veering in and out of open spaces to make a colorful jigsaw of stopped cars. Vendors moved in and out of the traffic, selling gum, sodas and water to frustrated travelers. Our laissez-faire attitudes shifted when we had barely moved in thirty minutes. I asked James, "Should we say something?" He nodded, wanting to be sure that a comment was necessary. Around 11:45, he leaned to the driver and said, in French, "So, do you think we will be able to make our flight?" The driver smiled, and said, "You will be fine!" James and I did the math. Fine was a relative term.
Finally, around 12:05, our driver received a call. He put the phone down and explained to us that we would be walking. We weren't exactly sure what they meant, but about ten minutes later, we saw three men coming toward us in the traffic. We were furthest from the sidewalk, so they had to weave and squeeze through a maze of cars. We jumped out of the van, grabbed our smaller bags while the travel company reps grabbed the bigger bags and started to race through the traffic. I followed a Congolese man yelling at me, "Come on!" while James graciously stayed behind to protect me from rogue vehicles, a definite possibility. Sometimes the cars were so close that we had to suck in and squeeze sideways to get through, praying that was not the moment the driver decided to inch forward into a free space in traffic.
We finally reached the sidewalk and the race began. While the others walked briskly and intentionally, I was doing some sort of walk-jog combo. I became keenly aware of the length of my legs, a deficit in this situation that left my side cramping. As we pushed and moved past fellow pedestrians, I quietly apologized, praying I would not knock over a child or bump a woman carrying a basket of goods on her head.
I will stop here for my second aside. The term "mundele" is really another word for "white face". Over the course of my visits, I have seen that mundele has three meanings. It can be said in a respectful, excited way: "Oh, look, a mundele", as there honestly aren't too many in the DRC. It can be said in a derogatory way, "Hey, Mundele, why do you get out of traffic while the rest of us have to sit here?" And, it can be said in a way, known to construction workers all over the world--"Mundele" (think cat-call). We heard all forms of the word on our trek through the traffic that day.
After about fifteen minutes of speed-walking, we finally saw the other van waiting for us. The traffic flowed freely on the streets. We had made it with thirty minutes to spare. The men who helped us smiled, sweat pouring down their faces. James and I laughed about the poor people who had to sit next to us on the plane, as we were likewise drenched. As we got into the van, I cannot express the deep gratitude we felt for the men who had risked their comfort (and, honestly, in a place where pedestrian accidents are common, to some degree their lives) to help us.
As James and I stood in line to check our bags, we both agreed that was a much better way to spend our time waiting--creating a wonderful memory that will be with me a lifetime.
Thursday, February 21, 2013
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
Making Some REALLY Good Lemonade from My Horrible Lemons
Honestly, I have been nervous about going on this trip alone to the DRC for several weeks (as we knew it was coming sometime, we just did not know when). Not the small-butterfly feeling in my stomach nervousness, but the waking-up-every-night-full-of-worry variety. Without going into a ton of detail, there were some "normal" precautions we use in travel--going with a buddy, having reliable transportation at the airport, traveling during the day--that appeared, in my limited viewpoint, to be falling apart. This, along with the fact that Philip was not on the invitation letter, and could not get a visa even if we could scrape up the money for Philip to travel with me, left me in a bit of irrational panic.
Although I can consciously know that fear is not of the Lord, and I can statistically look at how unlikely it would be that anything would happen to me, for nearly a month I could only focus on the dangers involved in such a trip. It did not help that one day--while thinking whether I should write a blog that looks similar to those You Tube goodbyes--I came out of my thoughtful daze to hear John Mayer singing "Say What You Need to Say" on the radio. An omen, I worried. I was literally and ridiculously scared. I did not have the choice of being disobedient and not going; I just prayed and prayed for God to make the situation less overwhelmingly frightening.
And he did just that. With the new guidelines from the U.S. Embassy, suddenly I got to travel with two other people, and those nightmares I had created of being the girl in Taken vanished (if you haven't seen that movie yet, don't. It makes you have an irrational fear of traveling, as evidenced by the rant above). I met a sweet woman named Susie at the airport in DC, while I was trying to stuff every item of clothing into my checked baggage, unaware that they actually weighed your carry-on bags and I had about 10 pounds to shed. After assuring me that if my clothes did not make it, I could borrow hers, we got on a plane headed to Ethiopia. I had found the travel buddy I had been praying for (I will introduce my other travel buddy in my next blog entry).
What I did not know is that God would use Susie to give me more than just peace of mind (and a listening ear) when traveling. As we traveled, I learned that, in 2010, Susie had taken a mission trip to the DRC and had fallen in love with a community right outside the city limits. She had traveled back five times over the next two years as a liasion for the Methodist Church whose program in this community feeds the children once a day, offers a clinic, and has built a water well in the area. Susie comes to meet specific needs of the community, to help create vision for its leaders, and to simply bring joy and hope to the kids of this community through a week of fun, games, and stories about God and Jesus. This time, she was making a trip to adopt a little girl who God had beautifully knit into her life through these visits. She graciously offered to take me to the village the day after we arrived. And, there, I learned an important lesson.
We veered off the highway and started down sandy, rocky roads. On either side of us were stone "houses", which consisted mostly of a roof and open, crumbling walls. Children were out playing or bathing from a bucket, while women sat watching them. It began quietly. A few children would catch a glimpse of us in the car, a smile would spread across their face, and they would say, with excitement, "Susie!" We kept driving, some people ignoring us, some peering inquisitively into the windows, and some running alongside the car. Finally, we took our last left-hand turn, and in the clearing, saw the great party that had been prepared for her. It did not have food or decorations--only a hundred children jumping, dancing and screaming, "Susie, maya! Susie, maya! Susie, maya!" over and over again (which, I believe means "Susie's here"). She opened the car door and they swarmed her and followed her into the small gathering spot they have, chanting praise of her return.
Susie is not a celebrity, but she sure looked like one that day. While she visited the friends she had made there, I wandered around to look at the center. I watched as men and women, along with Susie, surrounded the well to discuss its repair (she hoped to purchase a new pump during her visit). I got to pray over a man who had received surgery at the clinic by one of the two doctors there. I got to hold hands with a crowd of smiling children who had just finished their meal. I danced and sang and gave more "high-fives" than my palms could handle. I got the special treat of seeing five babies recently born at the clinic. And, I got to be there to see the small awe--of overwhelm and surprise and gratitude--that swept over Susie's face when she learned that one of those babies was named Susie.
I was reminded of the verse in I Thessalonians 4:11: "Make it your ambition to lead a quiet life and attend to your own business and work with your hands, . . so that you will behave properly toward outsiders and not be in any need." God was using a special-education teacher from a small town in Delaware to carry out His purpose in this otherwise forgotten community. No one would ever know the fanfare that surrounded her visit, but I am sure the Creator of the universe, who had tugged her heartstrings to know and love these people, knew. What I saw that day was nothing short of miraculous: a community brought back to life by the care and concern and obedience of a woman whose ambition was to serve the hungry, and thirsty, and naked, and in doing so, serve her King.
Although I can consciously know that fear is not of the Lord, and I can statistically look at how unlikely it would be that anything would happen to me, for nearly a month I could only focus on the dangers involved in such a trip. It did not help that one day--while thinking whether I should write a blog that looks similar to those You Tube goodbyes--I came out of my thoughtful daze to hear John Mayer singing "Say What You Need to Say" on the radio. An omen, I worried. I was literally and ridiculously scared. I did not have the choice of being disobedient and not going; I just prayed and prayed for God to make the situation less overwhelmingly frightening.
And he did just that. With the new guidelines from the U.S. Embassy, suddenly I got to travel with two other people, and those nightmares I had created of being the girl in Taken vanished (if you haven't seen that movie yet, don't. It makes you have an irrational fear of traveling, as evidenced by the rant above). I met a sweet woman named Susie at the airport in DC, while I was trying to stuff every item of clothing into my checked baggage, unaware that they actually weighed your carry-on bags and I had about 10 pounds to shed. After assuring me that if my clothes did not make it, I could borrow hers, we got on a plane headed to Ethiopia. I had found the travel buddy I had been praying for (I will introduce my other travel buddy in my next blog entry).
What I did not know is that God would use Susie to give me more than just peace of mind (and a listening ear) when traveling. As we traveled, I learned that, in 2010, Susie had taken a mission trip to the DRC and had fallen in love with a community right outside the city limits. She had traveled back five times over the next two years as a liasion for the Methodist Church whose program in this community feeds the children once a day, offers a clinic, and has built a water well in the area. Susie comes to meet specific needs of the community, to help create vision for its leaders, and to simply bring joy and hope to the kids of this community through a week of fun, games, and stories about God and Jesus. This time, she was making a trip to adopt a little girl who God had beautifully knit into her life through these visits. She graciously offered to take me to the village the day after we arrived. And, there, I learned an important lesson.
We veered off the highway and started down sandy, rocky roads. On either side of us were stone "houses", which consisted mostly of a roof and open, crumbling walls. Children were out playing or bathing from a bucket, while women sat watching them. It began quietly. A few children would catch a glimpse of us in the car, a smile would spread across their face, and they would say, with excitement, "Susie!" We kept driving, some people ignoring us, some peering inquisitively into the windows, and some running alongside the car. Finally, we took our last left-hand turn, and in the clearing, saw the great party that had been prepared for her. It did not have food or decorations--only a hundred children jumping, dancing and screaming, "Susie, maya! Susie, maya! Susie, maya!" over and over again (which, I believe means "Susie's here"). She opened the car door and they swarmed her and followed her into the small gathering spot they have, chanting praise of her return.
Susie is not a celebrity, but she sure looked like one that day. While she visited the friends she had made there, I wandered around to look at the center. I watched as men and women, along with Susie, surrounded the well to discuss its repair (she hoped to purchase a new pump during her visit). I got to pray over a man who had received surgery at the clinic by one of the two doctors there. I got to hold hands with a crowd of smiling children who had just finished their meal. I danced and sang and gave more "high-fives" than my palms could handle. I got the special treat of seeing five babies recently born at the clinic. And, I got to be there to see the small awe--of overwhelm and surprise and gratitude--that swept over Susie's face when she learned that one of those babies was named Susie.
I was reminded of the verse in I Thessalonians 4:11: "Make it your ambition to lead a quiet life and attend to your own business and work with your hands, . . so that you will behave properly toward outsiders and not be in any need." God was using a special-education teacher from a small town in Delaware to carry out His purpose in this otherwise forgotten community. No one would ever know the fanfare that surrounded her visit, but I am sure the Creator of the universe, who had tugged her heartstrings to know and love these people, knew. What I saw that day was nothing short of miraculous: a community brought back to life by the care and concern and obedience of a woman whose ambition was to serve the hungry, and thirsty, and naked, and in doing so, serve her King.
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
The Watchtower
I woke up yesterday morning, ready to spend some uninterrupted time in prayer. Please know that is not common for me; I struggle to make prayer a priority in my life. But, over the past few weeks, I have been bombarded by friends and family in need of prayer, myself included. As I prayed for those around me in need, I noticed that there was one common thread: we are all waiting.
Watching and waiting. Waiting to know if family will recover from a heart attack, waiting to see what cancer treatment is like, waiting desperately to have a baby, waiting--like us--to grow their family through adoption, waiting for marriages to be reconciled, and for prodigal sons to return home. This first month of 2013 has been one full of prayers for God to act and hold us all during this season of waiting. And those are just the people in my immediate circle. I know there are countless others waiting for jobs, waiting to finally have the cloud of grief lifted from their spirit, waiting for freedom from addiction and sickness and pain.
I have often heard people say, "Sometimes God says, Yes! Sometimes God says, No! and Sometimes God says, Not Yet!" I don't know why, but I have always discounted the Not Yet! as that ugly stepchild that is great because it isn't No!, but still irritating in its lack of finality. But, then I look at the Bible and realize God is the God of Not Yet! Sarah waits nearly a century to have a baby that will make hers and Abraham's descendents countless as the stars. The Israelites must wander for 40 years before reaching the Promised Land. David cries out over and over again in the Psalms, "How long, O Lord, must I wait?" Even Jesus, while he walked as man on earth, had to wait: for his ministry to begin, through a season of temptation, in the Garden before He was betrayed.
And, I wonder if I don't idolize the Yes! and No! because that is the way I work: there is an answer, and it is done. Because of my lack of faith and understanding, I think I would prefer No! to Not Yet! Because I dread the unknown, because I don't know what to do with time simply spent being and trusting and waiting, I minimize the importance of when God says Not Yet! In my heart, I desire things to be simple and convenient, not Godly.
But, today, I thought, "What if waiting is where it's at?" "What if waiting is even holy?" Sure, we praise God when He says, "Yes!" But, when it all comes down to it, we come to know Him in our times of greatest desperation: during the wait. An answer to prayer gives us something tangible to hold onto. But, it is in the times of the intangible--where man or knowledge or Google cannot provide any answers--that we build a relationship with the Healer, the Creator, the Savior and Friend. It is in those times that our eyes are fixed on Him, and we cry out to Him in endless conversation. And, it is in those times that we are softened, chiseled and set apart for His glory.
The other day, I was praying, and without forethought, I whispered, "My sweet Jesus . . ." The tenderness in that moment is one I had never experienced--my spirit knows Him and loves Him more deeply. And I have the wait to thank for that.
Watching and waiting. Waiting to know if family will recover from a heart attack, waiting to see what cancer treatment is like, waiting desperately to have a baby, waiting--like us--to grow their family through adoption, waiting for marriages to be reconciled, and for prodigal sons to return home. This first month of 2013 has been one full of prayers for God to act and hold us all during this season of waiting. And those are just the people in my immediate circle. I know there are countless others waiting for jobs, waiting to finally have the cloud of grief lifted from their spirit, waiting for freedom from addiction and sickness and pain.
I have often heard people say, "Sometimes God says, Yes! Sometimes God says, No! and Sometimes God says, Not Yet!" I don't know why, but I have always discounted the Not Yet! as that ugly stepchild that is great because it isn't No!, but still irritating in its lack of finality. But, then I look at the Bible and realize God is the God of Not Yet! Sarah waits nearly a century to have a baby that will make hers and Abraham's descendents countless as the stars. The Israelites must wander for 40 years before reaching the Promised Land. David cries out over and over again in the Psalms, "How long, O Lord, must I wait?" Even Jesus, while he walked as man on earth, had to wait: for his ministry to begin, through a season of temptation, in the Garden before He was betrayed.
And, I wonder if I don't idolize the Yes! and No! because that is the way I work: there is an answer, and it is done. Because of my lack of faith and understanding, I think I would prefer No! to Not Yet! Because I dread the unknown, because I don't know what to do with time simply spent being and trusting and waiting, I minimize the importance of when God says Not Yet! In my heart, I desire things to be simple and convenient, not Godly.
But, today, I thought, "What if waiting is where it's at?" "What if waiting is even holy?" Sure, we praise God when He says, "Yes!" But, when it all comes down to it, we come to know Him in our times of greatest desperation: during the wait. An answer to prayer gives us something tangible to hold onto. But, it is in the times of the intangible--where man or knowledge or Google cannot provide any answers--that we build a relationship with the Healer, the Creator, the Savior and Friend. It is in those times that our eyes are fixed on Him, and we cry out to Him in endless conversation. And, it is in those times that we are softened, chiseled and set apart for His glory.
The other day, I was praying, and without forethought, I whispered, "My sweet Jesus . . ." The tenderness in that moment is one I had never experienced--my spirit knows Him and loves Him more deeply. And I have the wait to thank for that.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)