What a walk from a luncheon will do to you.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Friday, March 28, 2008
After 36 days.
Where do I start.
This week has been wonderful, incredible, beautiful.
I blame it on the package my mom sent me. And not because I am now realizing how fun it is to ration Ho-Hos, but because she sent me “Good Morning, Holy Spirit,” the book I mentioned in week one or two. The book that Rebecca read a few paragraphs of a few years ago, it changed her life and relationship with God—the Holy Spirit to be exact—and she hasn’t seen the book since.
I was already unzipping my bag as I walked into the house after school on Monday. I told her that Mom from Ohio sent her a present.
She was sitting on the couch, finishing a Sudoku puzzle (Aunt Sandi: I gave Rebecca the Sudoku book you gave me for the plane. She’s in love with Math and this book—thanks). So anyway, she was completing this puzzle, I handed her the Holy Spirit book, and two seconds later she was off the couch, prostrate on the floor (head in hands), shrieking. Shrieking. She wrapped her arms around my neck, then my waist—all the while screaming—and saying a bunch of things really fast that I couldn’t understand, even though it was English. There was a bunch of Thank You and Oh God, Oh God, but it took her ten minutes to calm down. Once she did calm down, she gave me this speech:
The day you came. I woke up that day knowing that God was going to give me something. He had a blessing for me. I looked for it all day. But nothing. I remember it was 5:52, and I only had eight minutes left (maybe 6 o clock evening marks the end of day? I was confused by this) So, I stood there, by that radio, and asked God, ‘Where is it? What do you have for me? I thought it would come.’ As soon as I stopped praying, as SOON as I stopped praying, the van pulled up. And I thought, ‘This one. Is she what you have for me, or is something going to come from her?’ So I’ve been watching you, knowing ‘This one has a secret.’ (I’m going to interrupt here to backtrack a few weeks ago. Rebecca and I were blowing time at the dining room table, trying to read each other’s faces, because Rebecca said she can read people’s faces and know, always, when they’re lying. So I tested her, had her ask me questions, I would write the real answer down on paper and then decide whether to tell her the truth or lie, and she would read my face. ANYWAY. At one point she sort of squinted at me, studying me, and said that she knew me. Knew me well enough to know what I was thinking when I said things, and so she could read my face. But, she said. But, there is still one thing I don’t know. I am looking for something, but I haven’t found it yet. I’m not gonna lie: It was the first time Rebecca sort of freaked me out. Made me feel incompetent or suspicious, because she seemed suspicious of me. Anyway. Back to her speech).
And remember the night you came? It rained SO MUCH. I told you that rain means blessing, and for me, for me rain and God are the same. That is how He communicates with me. And it rained so much the night you came. And last night! It rained much much last night! But now I see. You are a gift from God. And look what you and Mom from Ohio brought me. Now I know I can get close to Him again, I can know the Holy Spirit again! (Insert shriek) It was what? It was 2002 when I last saw this book. I went to a Benny Hinn revival in Kampala a few years ago, to look for this book, but I didn’t see it. And now God has given it to me again! This is the biggest surprise, by the way.
The night before, lying in bed, she laughed about Communion that morning (Easter Sunday), how she was last in line, so the reverend gave her three portions of the bread. We laughed and I told her how Charlie takes home the Hawaiian rolls we use for Communion, afterwards. How we find him in the church kitchen on communion days, eating the leftover rolls. Anyway, she said when the reverend gave her the three pieces of bread, she thought, “One is the Father, one’s the Son, and one’s the Holy Spirit.” When I gave her the book, she also mentioned that. That now she could be with the Holy Spirit again.
I’m not saying that Rebecca needs this Benny Hinn book in order to get close to the Holy Spirit. We don’t need Benny Hinn for those sorts of things. But I keep reminding myself that God can use anything, will use anything, and for so long this girl has been panting as the deer to get to that place with the Holy Spirit where she used to be, after she first read a few paragraphs of the book and started applying it to her life. And if He’s going to use Benny Hinn, He’s going to use Benny Hinn.
All I know is that, this week, I’ve noticed a drastic change in Rebecca. So much joy. There was only one time I noticed the sadness that usually marks her face.
The next night, Tuesday night, we were sitting at the table, I opened a mosquito bite and had to go clean it (lovely details), so I went to the room, thinking I’d be right back. Rebecca and I sat in there, her on her bed and I on the floor, for the next two hours, talking about the Holy Spirit, and the different dreams she has had where she has seen God. (She was so excited, because Hinn was quoting Revelation and some of John’s descriptions of God and the throne, and shrieking again, Rebecca told me about her dream and God looking like a crystal sort of octagon, with a different color for each side. John’s descriptions of jasper and stones got her excited; her dreams came close, very close). I thought we had only been in there maybe 10 minutes, until Aida came in, said something in Luganda, and Rebecca said Mackie was on (our Spanish soap opera’s main character). I’m going to miss these conversations, these conversations that suck the minutes like crazy.
Wednesday night we watched Narnia together, the whole family at the dining room table. (Professor Button “rents” out his movie and book library to us…not to mention hosts Smore barbecues—last night was incredible). Anyway, they were so engrossed in the movie. Susan jumped from her seat and gasped at one point (this movie isn’t in the thriller genre), and Mom was really scared of the white witch, and scared that, “The children won’t suffer, will they?” I told her no, this movie is about the Easter story, so it’s a happy movie. And so they started looking for it, for the hints and parallels to Christ throughout the movie. They noticed so many things I haven’t before.
Like when this nasty little elf-looking thing, one of the ones killing Aslan, asks Aslan (a lion), “Do you want some milk?” I’ve just taken the line, thus far, as the nasty guy calling Aslan a kitten or something. But as soon as he said this, Mom said to me, “Like Jesus. When He’s on the cross and they offer Him something to drink.”
And then. Then there is this one part, in the fighting scenes, where a bow and arrow is a shot, and the arrow—with a ball of fire on the end—turns into a bird that then turns into a ball of fire, hits the ground, and sets a barrier of fire between the two armies. No joke: the entire family, Rebecca, Mom, Aida, and Susan, burst into cheers (at the point that the bird turned to fire), Aida waved her hands in the air, screaming, Susan was clapping, Mom said something like Hallelujah, and Rebecca wrapped her arms around my waist: “It’s the Holy Spirit!” she screamed. I still can’t figure this out. Maybe because I don’t know the Holy Spirit as well as they do, enough to recognize Him when He looks like a bird catching on fire. Maybe it’s something about the Day of Pentecost, when the Holy Spirit initially fell on the disciples “with tongues of fire” or something. ? Either way, they all knew, at the same time, who this bird was representing, and Rebecca made me rewind. I did. And again, same reaction, same uproar.
I bet you can imagine what it was like when Aslan rose from the dead. Aida even starting singing.
They all loved the movie; Rebecca said it’s her new favorite. (The next morning at breakfast, Mom started naming more biblical parallels from the movie that she thought about before sleeping). We’re watching it again this weekend.
That movie made for a late night. I had to go outside for the latrine before going to bed. (Remember, Betsy’s family won’t even let her out of the house past 7. It’s not safe). What I remember from the walk from the house to the stalls was the lightning. The silent, beautiful lightning. It was like a silent film; I love this sort of lightning.
The next morning, sitting at the breakfast table for two hours (skipping class) because of the incessant downpour, Rebecca said she had known the night before that would rain like that. “Remember when you went for a short call last night, very late?”
“Yes.”
“I followed you. I wonder if you noticed the lightning? So I knew we would wake to rain.”“I did notice the lightning. It was beautiful. (laugh). But Rebecca. You’re sneaky. Why’d you follow me?”
“I’m not sneaky. I was looking after you. It was late, not safe. I had to see that nothing happened to you.”
I love my big sister. Fully.
Like I said, it rained like crazy yesterday. My class started at 8:30. I left the house at 10, and pointlessly, for Mom and I still had to walk in the downpour.
On the way I told her, “Mom. I just decided. I am not going to any lectures today.”
“Really? Then why are you walking to campus?”
“I don’t know. But the rain has defeated me. I refuse.”
I skipped all my classes yesterday, really, for no reason. And it was wonderful.
I skipped class this morning too. But by default. I had just finished my bread and tea, and it was 8 o’clock, time to leave, in order to make it to my 8:30 class. But at 8:01 Rebecca said to me, “I read more of ‘Good Morning, Holy Spirit’ last night.” I didn’t leave the house until 9. I won’t sugar coat it: I was frustrated. I see that my Type A personality, the devil that it is, doesn’t dissolve just because it’s in a Type B culture. It was hard to listen genuinely, without picturing me walking in late to class. Especially hard to listen when we got into some theological stuff that I really disagree with Benny about. But Rebecca was taking his word as truth, while Revelation is a crazy book to interpret and place stock in your own interpretation. We argued some, I showed my frustration, and also looked at the clock my share of times. But then we reached this point in the conversation where I relaxed in my seat and realized, wet eyes and all, that I needed what was coming at the end of the conversation. The mire, the sludge, of the Revelation portion of the conversation was necessary, and worthwhile, in order to get to this.
It’s too overwhelming/consuming to sit here and write out the entire conversation. I will just boil it down to what I learned this morning:
I have long been ignoring the third person of the Trinity. Maybe because we call Him the third, and maybe because…I have no good excuse, really. For some reason I’ve been under the impression that the Father is God and Jesus, the Son, is God, and then there’s the Holy Spirit—the invisible version of the two. Sure, they are all connected. But not so much that they fully dissolve into each other—each is His own person. I give attention to the Father, and attention to the Son, but the Holy Spirit I either take for granted or ignore, never really calling Him by name, never really giving Him any credit for anything. Because I’ve just assumed that He is essentially the other two, just in the on-earth version. But how can that make sense, when the Father and the Son are separate enough? The distinctions between the Father and Son should be enough to tell me that the Holy Spirit is just as separate, just as unique.
Standing at the table, sliding my bag over my shoulder, I realized: When the Father was our “point of reference” or whatever, our present go-to God—in the days of Adam and Abraham, and all those jazzers—there were those who ignored Him. Then we had Jesus—He was/is the One we go to in order to be connected to God. And again, there were those who ignored Him. Those who had their eyes on the Father, and thought they were serving Yahweh, but failed to recognize Jesus, refusing to believe that He was/is the Father’s Son. And now we have the Holy Spirit. He is our present and direct contact. Yet there are those of us, myself included, who are so focused on the Son and the Father that we can’t recognize, and we ignore, the one who is here among us. So what makes me different from the Judaizers, the Pharisees, the ones who ignored the one among them and continued serving their own one-sided version of God? There is no difference. I am serving a two-sided God, while knowing He is three-sided. I have been forgetting the third person. Forgetting the Holy Spirit.
In so many ways, this scares me to death. To see this massive route ahead of me, this grand, painful effort to learn what I have to learn. A whole new side of God that I need to once again pursue, and let Him pursue me back (maybe that’s in the wrong order? I don’t know). A whole new person, personality to meet and learn His ins and outs. It’s huge, and I’m scared, overwhelmed, etc.
But at the same exact time, there is this incredible adventure ahead, just waiting. I don’t have to, I get to, meet and pursue and learn the personality of this third part of God. My life, my relationship with God—the three-in-one—has thus far been incredible. The most joyful, worthwhile adventure around. So, finding out that it’s only the beginning, that I’ve only tasted the half of it (okay, or 2/3), is the best news I’ve heard today. Because, really, how can it get better? I didn’t think it could. Today I see it can; as hard as it is to believe, I see I’ve been missing out—by ignoring this third person of God, this part that is no less significant than the other two.
I want God in abundance. That means all three parts. And if this is what I take from Africa, if this is what I take from Rebecca, these four months are golden.
(Post Script. For Mom. I did go to class today. The class I had to skip was one that is offered twice. I promise I went to the second session). :)
This week has been wonderful, incredible, beautiful.
I blame it on the package my mom sent me. And not because I am now realizing how fun it is to ration Ho-Hos, but because she sent me “Good Morning, Holy Spirit,” the book I mentioned in week one or two. The book that Rebecca read a few paragraphs of a few years ago, it changed her life and relationship with God—the Holy Spirit to be exact—and she hasn’t seen the book since.
I was already unzipping my bag as I walked into the house after school on Monday. I told her that Mom from Ohio sent her a present.
She was sitting on the couch, finishing a Sudoku puzzle (Aunt Sandi: I gave Rebecca the Sudoku book you gave me for the plane. She’s in love with Math and this book—thanks). So anyway, she was completing this puzzle, I handed her the Holy Spirit book, and two seconds later she was off the couch, prostrate on the floor (head in hands), shrieking. Shrieking. She wrapped her arms around my neck, then my waist—all the while screaming—and saying a bunch of things really fast that I couldn’t understand, even though it was English. There was a bunch of Thank You and Oh God, Oh God, but it took her ten minutes to calm down. Once she did calm down, she gave me this speech:
The day you came. I woke up that day knowing that God was going to give me something. He had a blessing for me. I looked for it all day. But nothing. I remember it was 5:52, and I only had eight minutes left (maybe 6 o clock evening marks the end of day? I was confused by this) So, I stood there, by that radio, and asked God, ‘Where is it? What do you have for me? I thought it would come.’ As soon as I stopped praying, as SOON as I stopped praying, the van pulled up. And I thought, ‘This one. Is she what you have for me, or is something going to come from her?’ So I’ve been watching you, knowing ‘This one has a secret.’ (I’m going to interrupt here to backtrack a few weeks ago. Rebecca and I were blowing time at the dining room table, trying to read each other’s faces, because Rebecca said she can read people’s faces and know, always, when they’re lying. So I tested her, had her ask me questions, I would write the real answer down on paper and then decide whether to tell her the truth or lie, and she would read my face. ANYWAY. At one point she sort of squinted at me, studying me, and said that she knew me. Knew me well enough to know what I was thinking when I said things, and so she could read my face. But, she said. But, there is still one thing I don’t know. I am looking for something, but I haven’t found it yet. I’m not gonna lie: It was the first time Rebecca sort of freaked me out. Made me feel incompetent or suspicious, because she seemed suspicious of me. Anyway. Back to her speech).
And remember the night you came? It rained SO MUCH. I told you that rain means blessing, and for me, for me rain and God are the same. That is how He communicates with me. And it rained so much the night you came. And last night! It rained much much last night! But now I see. You are a gift from God. And look what you and Mom from Ohio brought me. Now I know I can get close to Him again, I can know the Holy Spirit again! (Insert shriek) It was what? It was 2002 when I last saw this book. I went to a Benny Hinn revival in Kampala a few years ago, to look for this book, but I didn’t see it. And now God has given it to me again! This is the biggest surprise, by the way.
The night before, lying in bed, she laughed about Communion that morning (Easter Sunday), how she was last in line, so the reverend gave her three portions of the bread. We laughed and I told her how Charlie takes home the Hawaiian rolls we use for Communion, afterwards. How we find him in the church kitchen on communion days, eating the leftover rolls. Anyway, she said when the reverend gave her the three pieces of bread, she thought, “One is the Father, one’s the Son, and one’s the Holy Spirit.” When I gave her the book, she also mentioned that. That now she could be with the Holy Spirit again.
I’m not saying that Rebecca needs this Benny Hinn book in order to get close to the Holy Spirit. We don’t need Benny Hinn for those sorts of things. But I keep reminding myself that God can use anything, will use anything, and for so long this girl has been panting as the deer to get to that place with the Holy Spirit where she used to be, after she first read a few paragraphs of the book and started applying it to her life. And if He’s going to use Benny Hinn, He’s going to use Benny Hinn.
All I know is that, this week, I’ve noticed a drastic change in Rebecca. So much joy. There was only one time I noticed the sadness that usually marks her face.
The next night, Tuesday night, we were sitting at the table, I opened a mosquito bite and had to go clean it (lovely details), so I went to the room, thinking I’d be right back. Rebecca and I sat in there, her on her bed and I on the floor, for the next two hours, talking about the Holy Spirit, and the different dreams she has had where she has seen God. (She was so excited, because Hinn was quoting Revelation and some of John’s descriptions of God and the throne, and shrieking again, Rebecca told me about her dream and God looking like a crystal sort of octagon, with a different color for each side. John’s descriptions of jasper and stones got her excited; her dreams came close, very close). I thought we had only been in there maybe 10 minutes, until Aida came in, said something in Luganda, and Rebecca said Mackie was on (our Spanish soap opera’s main character). I’m going to miss these conversations, these conversations that suck the minutes like crazy.
Wednesday night we watched Narnia together, the whole family at the dining room table. (Professor Button “rents” out his movie and book library to us…not to mention hosts Smore barbecues—last night was incredible). Anyway, they were so engrossed in the movie. Susan jumped from her seat and gasped at one point (this movie isn’t in the thriller genre), and Mom was really scared of the white witch, and scared that, “The children won’t suffer, will they?” I told her no, this movie is about the Easter story, so it’s a happy movie. And so they started looking for it, for the hints and parallels to Christ throughout the movie. They noticed so many things I haven’t before.
Like when this nasty little elf-looking thing, one of the ones killing Aslan, asks Aslan (a lion), “Do you want some milk?” I’ve just taken the line, thus far, as the nasty guy calling Aslan a kitten or something. But as soon as he said this, Mom said to me, “Like Jesus. When He’s on the cross and they offer Him something to drink.”
And then. Then there is this one part, in the fighting scenes, where a bow and arrow is a shot, and the arrow—with a ball of fire on the end—turns into a bird that then turns into a ball of fire, hits the ground, and sets a barrier of fire between the two armies. No joke: the entire family, Rebecca, Mom, Aida, and Susan, burst into cheers (at the point that the bird turned to fire), Aida waved her hands in the air, screaming, Susan was clapping, Mom said something like Hallelujah, and Rebecca wrapped her arms around my waist: “It’s the Holy Spirit!” she screamed. I still can’t figure this out. Maybe because I don’t know the Holy Spirit as well as they do, enough to recognize Him when He looks like a bird catching on fire. Maybe it’s something about the Day of Pentecost, when the Holy Spirit initially fell on the disciples “with tongues of fire” or something. ? Either way, they all knew, at the same time, who this bird was representing, and Rebecca made me rewind. I did. And again, same reaction, same uproar.
I bet you can imagine what it was like when Aslan rose from the dead. Aida even starting singing.
They all loved the movie; Rebecca said it’s her new favorite. (The next morning at breakfast, Mom started naming more biblical parallels from the movie that she thought about before sleeping). We’re watching it again this weekend.
That movie made for a late night. I had to go outside for the latrine before going to bed. (Remember, Betsy’s family won’t even let her out of the house past 7. It’s not safe). What I remember from the walk from the house to the stalls was the lightning. The silent, beautiful lightning. It was like a silent film; I love this sort of lightning.
The next morning, sitting at the breakfast table for two hours (skipping class) because of the incessant downpour, Rebecca said she had known the night before that would rain like that. “Remember when you went for a short call last night, very late?”
“Yes.”
“I followed you. I wonder if you noticed the lightning? So I knew we would wake to rain.”“I did notice the lightning. It was beautiful. (laugh). But Rebecca. You’re sneaky. Why’d you follow me?”
“I’m not sneaky. I was looking after you. It was late, not safe. I had to see that nothing happened to you.”
I love my big sister. Fully.
Like I said, it rained like crazy yesterday. My class started at 8:30. I left the house at 10, and pointlessly, for Mom and I still had to walk in the downpour.
On the way I told her, “Mom. I just decided. I am not going to any lectures today.”
“Really? Then why are you walking to campus?”
“I don’t know. But the rain has defeated me. I refuse.”
I skipped all my classes yesterday, really, for no reason. And it was wonderful.
I skipped class this morning too. But by default. I had just finished my bread and tea, and it was 8 o’clock, time to leave, in order to make it to my 8:30 class. But at 8:01 Rebecca said to me, “I read more of ‘Good Morning, Holy Spirit’ last night.” I didn’t leave the house until 9. I won’t sugar coat it: I was frustrated. I see that my Type A personality, the devil that it is, doesn’t dissolve just because it’s in a Type B culture. It was hard to listen genuinely, without picturing me walking in late to class. Especially hard to listen when we got into some theological stuff that I really disagree with Benny about. But Rebecca was taking his word as truth, while Revelation is a crazy book to interpret and place stock in your own interpretation. We argued some, I showed my frustration, and also looked at the clock my share of times. But then we reached this point in the conversation where I relaxed in my seat and realized, wet eyes and all, that I needed what was coming at the end of the conversation. The mire, the sludge, of the Revelation portion of the conversation was necessary, and worthwhile, in order to get to this.
It’s too overwhelming/consuming to sit here and write out the entire conversation. I will just boil it down to what I learned this morning:
I have long been ignoring the third person of the Trinity. Maybe because we call Him the third, and maybe because…I have no good excuse, really. For some reason I’ve been under the impression that the Father is God and Jesus, the Son, is God, and then there’s the Holy Spirit—the invisible version of the two. Sure, they are all connected. But not so much that they fully dissolve into each other—each is His own person. I give attention to the Father, and attention to the Son, but the Holy Spirit I either take for granted or ignore, never really calling Him by name, never really giving Him any credit for anything. Because I’ve just assumed that He is essentially the other two, just in the on-earth version. But how can that make sense, when the Father and the Son are separate enough? The distinctions between the Father and Son should be enough to tell me that the Holy Spirit is just as separate, just as unique.
Standing at the table, sliding my bag over my shoulder, I realized: When the Father was our “point of reference” or whatever, our present go-to God—in the days of Adam and Abraham, and all those jazzers—there were those who ignored Him. Then we had Jesus—He was/is the One we go to in order to be connected to God. And again, there were those who ignored Him. Those who had their eyes on the Father, and thought they were serving Yahweh, but failed to recognize Jesus, refusing to believe that He was/is the Father’s Son. And now we have the Holy Spirit. He is our present and direct contact. Yet there are those of us, myself included, who are so focused on the Son and the Father that we can’t recognize, and we ignore, the one who is here among us. So what makes me different from the Judaizers, the Pharisees, the ones who ignored the one among them and continued serving their own one-sided version of God? There is no difference. I am serving a two-sided God, while knowing He is three-sided. I have been forgetting the third person. Forgetting the Holy Spirit.
In so many ways, this scares me to death. To see this massive route ahead of me, this grand, painful effort to learn what I have to learn. A whole new side of God that I need to once again pursue, and let Him pursue me back (maybe that’s in the wrong order? I don’t know). A whole new person, personality to meet and learn His ins and outs. It’s huge, and I’m scared, overwhelmed, etc.
But at the same exact time, there is this incredible adventure ahead, just waiting. I don’t have to, I get to, meet and pursue and learn the personality of this third part of God. My life, my relationship with God—the three-in-one—has thus far been incredible. The most joyful, worthwhile adventure around. So, finding out that it’s only the beginning, that I’ve only tasted the half of it (okay, or 2/3), is the best news I’ve heard today. Because, really, how can it get better? I didn’t think it could. Today I see it can; as hard as it is to believe, I see I’ve been missing out—by ignoring this third person of God, this part that is no less significant than the other two.
I want God in abundance. That means all three parts. And if this is what I take from Africa, if this is what I take from Rebecca, these four months are golden.
(Post Script. For Mom. I did go to class today. The class I had to skip was one that is offered twice. I promise I went to the second session). :)
After 36 days.
Where do I start.
This week has been wonderful, incredible, beautiful.
I blame it on the package my mom sent me. And not because I am now realizing how fun it is to ration Ho-Hos, but because she spirit,” the book I mentioned in week one or two. The book that Rebecca read a few paragraphs of a few years ago, it changed her life and relationship with God—the Holy Spirit to be exact—and she hasn’t seen the book since.
I was already unzipping my bag as I walked into the house after school on Monday. I told her that Mom from Ohio sent her a present.
She was sitting on the couch, finishing a Sudoku puzzle (Aunt Sandi: I gave Rebecca the Sudoku book you gave me for the plane. She’s in love with Math and this book—thanks). So anyway, she was completing this puzzle, I handed her the Holy Spirit book, and two seconds later she was off the couch, prostrate on the floor (head in hands), shrieking. Shrieking. She wrapped her arms around my neck, then my waist—all the while screaming—and saying a bunch of things really fast that I couldn’t understand, even though it was English. There was a bunch of Thank You and Oh God, Oh God, but it took her ten minutes to calm down. Once she did calm down, she gave me this speech:
The day you came. I woke up that day knowing that God was going to give me something. He had a blessing for me. I looked for it all day. But nothing. I remember it was 5:52, and I only had eight minutes left (maybe 6 o clock evening marks the end of day? I was confused by this) So, I stood there, by that radio, and asked God, ‘Where is it? What do you have for me? I thought it would come.’ As soon as I stopped praying, as SOON as I stopped praying, the van pulled up. And I thought, ‘This one. Is she what you have for me, or is something going to come from her?’ So I’ve been watching you, knowing ‘This one has a secret.’ (I’m going to interrupt here to backtrack a few weeks ago. Rebecca and I were blowing time at the dining room table, trying to read each other’s faces, because Rebecca said she can read people’s faces and know, always, when they’re lying. So I tested her, had her ask me questions, I would write the real answer down on paper and then decide whether to tell her the truth or lie, and she would read my face. ANYWAY. At one point she sort of squinted at me, studying me, and said that she knew me. Knew me well enough to know what I was thinking when I said things, and so she could read my face. But, she said. But, there is still one thing I don’t know. I am looking for something, but I haven’t found it yet. I’m not gonna lie: It was the first time Rebecca sort of freaked me out. Made me feel incompetent or suspicious, because she seemed suspicious of me. Anyway. Back to her speech).
And remember the night you came? It rained SO MUCH. I told you that rain means blessing, and for me, for me rain and God are the same. That is how He communicates with me. And it rained so much the night you came. And last night! It rained much much last night! But now I see. You are a gift from God. And look what you and Mom from Ohio brought me. Now I know I can get close to Him again, I can know the Holy Spirit again! (Insert shriek) It was what? It was 2002 when I last saw this book. I went to a Benny Hinn revival in Kampala a few years ago, to look for this book, but I didn’t see it. And now God has given it to me again! This is the biggest surprise, by the way.
The night before, lying in bed, she laughed about Communion that morning (Easter Sunday), how she was last in line, so the reverend gave her three portions of the bread. We laughed and I told her how Charlie takes home the Hawaiian rolls we use for Communion, afterwards. How we find him in the church kitchen on communion days, eating the leftover rolls. Anyway, she said when the reverend gave her the three pieces of bread, she thought, “One is the Father, one’s the Son, and one’s the Holy Spirit.” When I gave her the book, she also mentioned that. That now she could be with the Holy Spirit again.
I’m not saying that Rebecca needs this Benny Hinn book in order to get close to the Holy Spirit. We don’t need Benny Hinn for those sorts of things. But I keep reminding myself that God can use anything, will use anything, and for so long this girl has been panting as the deer to get to that place with the Holy Spirit where she used to be, after she first read a few paragraphs of the book and started applying it to her life. And if He’s going to use Benny Hinn, He’s going to use Benny Hinn.
All I know is that, this week, I’ve noticed a drastic change in Rebecca. So much joy. There was only one time I noticed the sadness that usually marks her face.
The next night, Tuesday night, we were sitting at the table, I opened a mosquito bite and had to go clean it (lovely details), so I went to the room, thinking I’d be right back. Rebecca and I sat in there, her on her bed and I on the floor, for the next two hours, talking about the Holy Spirit, and the different dreams she has had where she has seen God. (She was so excited, because Hinn was quoting Revelation and some of John’s descriptions of God and the throne, and shrieking again, Rebecca told me about her dream and God looking like a crystal sort of octagon, with a different color for each side. John’s descriptions of jasper and stones got her excited; her dreams came close, very close). I thought we had only been in there maybe 10 minutes, until Aida came in, said something in Luganda, and Rebecca said Mackie was on (our Spanish soap opera’s main character). I’m going to miss these conversations, these conversations that suck the minutes like crazy.
Wednesday night we watched Narnia together, the whole family at the dining room table. (Professor Button “rents” out his movie and book library to us…not to mention hosts Smore barbecues—last night was incredible). Anyway, they were so engrossed in the movie. Susan jumped from her seat and gasped at one point (this movie isn’t in the thriller genre), and Mom was really scared of the white witch, and scared that, “The children won’t suffer, will they?” I told her no, this movie is about the Easter story, so it’s a happy movie. And so they started looking for it, for the hints and parallels to Christ throughout the movie. They noticed so many things I haven’t before.
Like when this nasty little elf-looking thing, one of the ones killing Aslan, asks Aslan (a lion), “Do you want some milk?” I’ve just taken the line, thus far, as the nasty guy calling Aslan a kitten or something. But as soon as he said this, Mom said to me, “Like Jesus. When He’s on the cross and they offer Him something to drink.”
And then. Then there is this one part, in the fighting scenes, where a bow and arrow is a shot, and the arrow—with a ball of fire on the end—turns into a bird that then turns into a ball of fire, hits the ground, and sets a barrier of fire between the two armies. No joke: the entire family, Rebecca, Mom, Aida, and Susan, burst into cheers (at the point that the bird turned to fire), Aida waved her hands in the air, screaming, Susan was clapping, Mom said something like Hallelujah, and Rebecca wrapped her arms around my waist: “It’s the Holy Spirit!” she screamed. I still can’t figure this out. Maybe because I don’t know the Holy Spirit as well as they do, enough to recognize Him when He looks like a bird catching on fire. Maybe it’s something about the Day of Pentecost, when the Holy Spirit initially fell on the disciples “with tongues of fire” or something. ? Either way, they all knew, at the same time, who this bird was representing, and Rebecca made me rewind. I did. And again, same reaction, same uproar.
I bet you can imagine what it was like when Aslan rose from the dead. Aida even starting singing.
They all loved the movie; Rebecca said it’s her new favorite. (The next morning at breakfast, Mom started naming more biblical parallels from the movie that she thought about before sleeping). We’re watching it again this weekend.
That movie made for a late night. I had to go outside for the latrine before going to bed. (Remember, Betsy’s family won’t even let her out of the house past 7. It’s not safe). What I remember from the walk from the house to the stalls was the lightning. The silent, beautiful lightning. It was like a silent film; I love this sort of lightning.
The next morning, sitting at the breakfast table for two hours (skipping class) because of the incessant downpour, Rebecca said she had known the night before that would rain like that. “Remember when you went for a short call last night, very late?”
“Yes.”
“I followed you. I wonder if you noticed the lightning? So I knew we would wake to rain.”
“I did notice the lightning. It was beautiful. (laugh). But Rebecca. You’re sneaky. Why’d you follow me?”
“I’m not sneaky. I was looking after you. It was late, not safe. I had to see that nothing happened to you.”
I love my big sister. Fully.
Like I said, it rained like crazy yesterday. My class started at 8:30. I left the house at 10, and pointlessly, for Mom and I still had to walk in the downpour.
On the way I told her, “Mom. I just decided. I am not going to any lectures today.”
“Really? Then why are you walking to campus?”
“I don’t know. But the rain has defeated me. I refuse.”
I skipped all my classes yesterday, really, for no reason. And it was wonderful.
I skipped class this morning too. But by default. I had just finished my bread and tea, and it was 8 o’clock, time to leave, in order to make it to my 8:30 class. But at 8:01 Rebecca said to me, “I read more of ‘Good Morning, Holy Spirit’ last night.” I didn’t leave the house until 9. I won’t sugar coat it: I was frustrated. I see that my Type A personality, the devil that it is, doesn’t dissolve just because it’s in a Type B culture. It was hard to listen genuinely, without picturing me walking in late to class. Especially hard to listen when we got into some theological stuff that I really disagree with Benny about. But Rebecca was taking his word as truth, while Revelation is a crazy book to interpret and place stock in your own interpretation. We argued some, I showed my frustration, and also looked at the clock my share of times. But then we reached this point in the conversation where I relaxed in my seat and realized, wet eyes and all, that I needed what was coming at the end of the conversation. The mire, the sludge, of the Revelation portion of the conversation was necessary, and worthwhile, in order to get to this.
It’s too overwhelming/consuming to sit here and write out the entire conversation. I will just boil it down to what I learned this morning:
I have long been ignoring the third person of the Trinity. Maybe because we call Him the third, and maybe because…I have no good excuse, really. For some reason I’ve been under the impression that the Father is God and Jesus, the Son, is God, and then there’s the Holy Spirit—the invisible version of the two. Sure, they are all connected. But not so much that they fully dissolve into each other—each is His own person. I give attention to the Father, and attention to the Son, but the Holy Spirit I either take for granted or ignore, never really calling Him by name, never really giving Him any credit for anything. Because I’ve just assumed that He is essentially the other two, just in the on-earth version. But how can that make sense, when the Father and the Son are separate enough? The distinctions between the Father and Son should be enough to tell me that the Holy Spirit is just as separate, just as unique.
Standing at the table, sliding my bag over my shoulder, I realized: When the Father was our “point of reference” or whatever, our present go-to God—in the days of Adam and Abraham, and all those jazzers—there were those who ignored Him. Then we had Jesus—He was/is the One we go to in order to be connected to God. And again, there were those who ignored Him. Those who had their eyes on the Father, and thought they were serving Yahweh, but failed to recognize Jesus, refusing to believe that He was/is the Father’s Son. And now we have the Holy Spirit. He is our present and direct contact. Yet there are those of us, myself included, who are so focused on the Son and the Father that we can’t recognize, and we ignore, the one who is here among us. So what makes me different from the Judaizers, the Pharisees, the ones who ignored the one among them and continued serving their own one-sided version of God? There is no difference. I am serving a two-sided God, while knowing He is three-sided. I have been forgetting the third person. Forgetting the Holy Spirit.
In so many ways, this scares me to death. To see this massive route ahead of me, this grand, painful effort to learn what I have to learn. A whole new side of God that I need to once again pursue, and let Him pursue me back (maybe that’s in the wrong order? I don’t know). A whole new person, personality to meet and learn His ins and outs. It’s huge, and I’m scared, overwhelmed, etc.
But at the same exact time, there is this incredible adventure ahead, just waiting. I don’t have to, I get to, meet and pursue and learn the personality of this third part of God. My life, my relationship with God—the three-in-one—has thus far been incredible. The most joyful, worthwhile adventure around. So, finding out that it’s only the beginning, that I’ve only tasted the half of it (okay, or 2/3), is the best news I’ve heard today. Because, really, how can it get better? I didn’t think it could. Today I see it can; as hard as it is to believe, I see I’ve been missing out—by ignoring this third person of God, this part that is no less significant than the other two.
I want God in abundance. That means all three parts. And if this is what I take from Africa, if this is what I take from Rebecca, these four months are golden.
(Post Script. For Mom. I did go to class today. The class I had to skip was one that is offered twice. I promise I went to the second session). :)
This week has been wonderful, incredible, beautiful.
I blame it on the package my mom sent me. And not because I am now realizing how fun it is to ration Ho-Hos, but because she spirit,” the book I mentioned in week one or two. The book that Rebecca read a few paragraphs of a few years ago, it changed her life and relationship with God—the Holy Spirit to be exact—and she hasn’t seen the book since.
I was already unzipping my bag as I walked into the house after school on Monday. I told her that Mom from Ohio sent her a present.
She was sitting on the couch, finishing a Sudoku puzzle (Aunt Sandi: I gave Rebecca the Sudoku book you gave me for the plane. She’s in love with Math and this book—thanks). So anyway, she was completing this puzzle, I handed her the Holy Spirit book, and two seconds later she was off the couch, prostrate on the floor (head in hands), shrieking. Shrieking. She wrapped her arms around my neck, then my waist—all the while screaming—and saying a bunch of things really fast that I couldn’t understand, even though it was English. There was a bunch of Thank You and Oh God, Oh God, but it took her ten minutes to calm down. Once she did calm down, she gave me this speech:
The day you came. I woke up that day knowing that God was going to give me something. He had a blessing for me. I looked for it all day. But nothing. I remember it was 5:52, and I only had eight minutes left (maybe 6 o clock evening marks the end of day? I was confused by this) So, I stood there, by that radio, and asked God, ‘Where is it? What do you have for me? I thought it would come.’ As soon as I stopped praying, as SOON as I stopped praying, the van pulled up. And I thought, ‘This one. Is she what you have for me, or is something going to come from her?’ So I’ve been watching you, knowing ‘This one has a secret.’ (I’m going to interrupt here to backtrack a few weeks ago. Rebecca and I were blowing time at the dining room table, trying to read each other’s faces, because Rebecca said she can read people’s faces and know, always, when they’re lying. So I tested her, had her ask me questions, I would write the real answer down on paper and then decide whether to tell her the truth or lie, and she would read my face. ANYWAY. At one point she sort of squinted at me, studying me, and said that she knew me. Knew me well enough to know what I was thinking when I said things, and so she could read my face. But, she said. But, there is still one thing I don’t know. I am looking for something, but I haven’t found it yet. I’m not gonna lie: It was the first time Rebecca sort of freaked me out. Made me feel incompetent or suspicious, because she seemed suspicious of me. Anyway. Back to her speech).
And remember the night you came? It rained SO MUCH. I told you that rain means blessing, and for me, for me rain and God are the same. That is how He communicates with me. And it rained so much the night you came. And last night! It rained much much last night! But now I see. You are a gift from God. And look what you and Mom from Ohio brought me. Now I know I can get close to Him again, I can know the Holy Spirit again! (Insert shriek) It was what? It was 2002 when I last saw this book. I went to a Benny Hinn revival in Kampala a few years ago, to look for this book, but I didn’t see it. And now God has given it to me again! This is the biggest surprise, by the way.
The night before, lying in bed, she laughed about Communion that morning (Easter Sunday), how she was last in line, so the reverend gave her three portions of the bread. We laughed and I told her how Charlie takes home the Hawaiian rolls we use for Communion, afterwards. How we find him in the church kitchen on communion days, eating the leftover rolls. Anyway, she said when the reverend gave her the three pieces of bread, she thought, “One is the Father, one’s the Son, and one’s the Holy Spirit.” When I gave her the book, she also mentioned that. That now she could be with the Holy Spirit again.
I’m not saying that Rebecca needs this Benny Hinn book in order to get close to the Holy Spirit. We don’t need Benny Hinn for those sorts of things. But I keep reminding myself that God can use anything, will use anything, and for so long this girl has been panting as the deer to get to that place with the Holy Spirit where she used to be, after she first read a few paragraphs of the book and started applying it to her life. And if He’s going to use Benny Hinn, He’s going to use Benny Hinn.
All I know is that, this week, I’ve noticed a drastic change in Rebecca. So much joy. There was only one time I noticed the sadness that usually marks her face.
The next night, Tuesday night, we were sitting at the table, I opened a mosquito bite and had to go clean it (lovely details), so I went to the room, thinking I’d be right back. Rebecca and I sat in there, her on her bed and I on the floor, for the next two hours, talking about the Holy Spirit, and the different dreams she has had where she has seen God. (She was so excited, because Hinn was quoting Revelation and some of John’s descriptions of God and the throne, and shrieking again, Rebecca told me about her dream and God looking like a crystal sort of octagon, with a different color for each side. John’s descriptions of jasper and stones got her excited; her dreams came close, very close). I thought we had only been in there maybe 10 minutes, until Aida came in, said something in Luganda, and Rebecca said Mackie was on (our Spanish soap opera’s main character). I’m going to miss these conversations, these conversations that suck the minutes like crazy.
Wednesday night we watched Narnia together, the whole family at the dining room table. (Professor Button “rents” out his movie and book library to us…not to mention hosts Smore barbecues—last night was incredible). Anyway, they were so engrossed in the movie. Susan jumped from her seat and gasped at one point (this movie isn’t in the thriller genre), and Mom was really scared of the white witch, and scared that, “The children won’t suffer, will they?” I told her no, this movie is about the Easter story, so it’s a happy movie. And so they started looking for it, for the hints and parallels to Christ throughout the movie. They noticed so many things I haven’t before.
Like when this nasty little elf-looking thing, one of the ones killing Aslan, asks Aslan (a lion), “Do you want some milk?” I’ve just taken the line, thus far, as the nasty guy calling Aslan a kitten or something. But as soon as he said this, Mom said to me, “Like Jesus. When He’s on the cross and they offer Him something to drink.”
And then. Then there is this one part, in the fighting scenes, where a bow and arrow is a shot, and the arrow—with a ball of fire on the end—turns into a bird that then turns into a ball of fire, hits the ground, and sets a barrier of fire between the two armies. No joke: the entire family, Rebecca, Mom, Aida, and Susan, burst into cheers (at the point that the bird turned to fire), Aida waved her hands in the air, screaming, Susan was clapping, Mom said something like Hallelujah, and Rebecca wrapped her arms around my waist: “It’s the Holy Spirit!” she screamed. I still can’t figure this out. Maybe because I don’t know the Holy Spirit as well as they do, enough to recognize Him when He looks like a bird catching on fire. Maybe it’s something about the Day of Pentecost, when the Holy Spirit initially fell on the disciples “with tongues of fire” or something. ? Either way, they all knew, at the same time, who this bird was representing, and Rebecca made me rewind. I did. And again, same reaction, same uproar.
I bet you can imagine what it was like when Aslan rose from the dead. Aida even starting singing.
They all loved the movie; Rebecca said it’s her new favorite. (The next morning at breakfast, Mom started naming more biblical parallels from the movie that she thought about before sleeping). We’re watching it again this weekend.
That movie made for a late night. I had to go outside for the latrine before going to bed. (Remember, Betsy’s family won’t even let her out of the house past 7. It’s not safe). What I remember from the walk from the house to the stalls was the lightning. The silent, beautiful lightning. It was like a silent film; I love this sort of lightning.
The next morning, sitting at the breakfast table for two hours (skipping class) because of the incessant downpour, Rebecca said she had known the night before that would rain like that. “Remember when you went for a short call last night, very late?”
“Yes.”
“I followed you. I wonder if you noticed the lightning? So I knew we would wake to rain.”
“I did notice the lightning. It was beautiful. (laugh). But Rebecca. You’re sneaky. Why’d you follow me?”
“I’m not sneaky. I was looking after you. It was late, not safe. I had to see that nothing happened to you.”
I love my big sister. Fully.
Like I said, it rained like crazy yesterday. My class started at 8:30. I left the house at 10, and pointlessly, for Mom and I still had to walk in the downpour.
On the way I told her, “Mom. I just decided. I am not going to any lectures today.”
“Really? Then why are you walking to campus?”
“I don’t know. But the rain has defeated me. I refuse.”
I skipped all my classes yesterday, really, for no reason. And it was wonderful.
I skipped class this morning too. But by default. I had just finished my bread and tea, and it was 8 o’clock, time to leave, in order to make it to my 8:30 class. But at 8:01 Rebecca said to me, “I read more of ‘Good Morning, Holy Spirit’ last night.” I didn’t leave the house until 9. I won’t sugar coat it: I was frustrated. I see that my Type A personality, the devil that it is, doesn’t dissolve just because it’s in a Type B culture. It was hard to listen genuinely, without picturing me walking in late to class. Especially hard to listen when we got into some theological stuff that I really disagree with Benny about. But Rebecca was taking his word as truth, while Revelation is a crazy book to interpret and place stock in your own interpretation. We argued some, I showed my frustration, and also looked at the clock my share of times. But then we reached this point in the conversation where I relaxed in my seat and realized, wet eyes and all, that I needed what was coming at the end of the conversation. The mire, the sludge, of the Revelation portion of the conversation was necessary, and worthwhile, in order to get to this.
It’s too overwhelming/consuming to sit here and write out the entire conversation. I will just boil it down to what I learned this morning:
I have long been ignoring the third person of the Trinity. Maybe because we call Him the third, and maybe because…I have no good excuse, really. For some reason I’ve been under the impression that the Father is God and Jesus, the Son, is God, and then there’s the Holy Spirit—the invisible version of the two. Sure, they are all connected. But not so much that they fully dissolve into each other—each is His own person. I give attention to the Father, and attention to the Son, but the Holy Spirit I either take for granted or ignore, never really calling Him by name, never really giving Him any credit for anything. Because I’ve just assumed that He is essentially the other two, just in the on-earth version. But how can that make sense, when the Father and the Son are separate enough? The distinctions between the Father and Son should be enough to tell me that the Holy Spirit is just as separate, just as unique.
Standing at the table, sliding my bag over my shoulder, I realized: When the Father was our “point of reference” or whatever, our present go-to God—in the days of Adam and Abraham, and all those jazzers—there were those who ignored Him. Then we had Jesus—He was/is the One we go to in order to be connected to God. And again, there were those who ignored Him. Those who had their eyes on the Father, and thought they were serving Yahweh, but failed to recognize Jesus, refusing to believe that He was/is the Father’s Son. And now we have the Holy Spirit. He is our present and direct contact. Yet there are those of us, myself included, who are so focused on the Son and the Father that we can’t recognize, and we ignore, the one who is here among us. So what makes me different from the Judaizers, the Pharisees, the ones who ignored the one among them and continued serving their own one-sided version of God? There is no difference. I am serving a two-sided God, while knowing He is three-sided. I have been forgetting the third person. Forgetting the Holy Spirit.
In so many ways, this scares me to death. To see this massive route ahead of me, this grand, painful effort to learn what I have to learn. A whole new side of God that I need to once again pursue, and let Him pursue me back (maybe that’s in the wrong order? I don’t know). A whole new person, personality to meet and learn His ins and outs. It’s huge, and I’m scared, overwhelmed, etc.
But at the same exact time, there is this incredible adventure ahead, just waiting. I don’t have to, I get to, meet and pursue and learn the personality of this third part of God. My life, my relationship with God—the three-in-one—has thus far been incredible. The most joyful, worthwhile adventure around. So, finding out that it’s only the beginning, that I’ve only tasted the half of it (okay, or 2/3), is the best news I’ve heard today. Because, really, how can it get better? I didn’t think it could. Today I see it can; as hard as it is to believe, I see I’ve been missing out—by ignoring this third person of God, this part that is no less significant than the other two.
I want God in abundance. That means all three parts. And if this is what I take from Africa, if this is what I take from Rebecca, these four months are golden.
(Post Script. For Mom. I did go to class today. The class I had to skip was one that is offered twice. I promise I went to the second session). :)
Monday, March 24, 2008
Sepia: Because this is better than writing a paper.
Rainy. season.
Good. Friday.
Because eggs go bad and eventually you have to draw faces on them.
Meet Jacque, complete with Starburst beret.
Surely you know what this is.
Where Gambling is Illegal.
Vicky, Susan, Franca.
Left, Center, Right.
Me and Becca. The famous Becca.
Me and Susan. Susan-Sunday-School-Susan.
My mom said people want to know what we are doing in Rwanda, from April 18 on.
The truth is, none of us know. We aren't told much, not ever really. Except that, we're going to be learning a lot about the genocide. I think that is the focus of the trip.
No staying with families (as far as I know), just simply living as a group, I think.
What's funny: when America bridges with Africa.
Kyle and I had a little disagreement about Meatloaf's "Anything for Love" lyrics. He bet me that Meatloaf never says what he won't do when he says "But I won't do that." I bet him that he does, yes he does say what he won't do. We bet 5 American dollars.
Don't ever make bets with an American who loves Meatloaf. I just won 5 dollars.
It Don't Beat the Way it used to.
I have a semi-massive/important paper due tomorrow, and I couldn’t even really tell you what the topic is. Yet, here I am. With much to say.
I’ll try to keep it in order. I think Tuesday was the last time I blogged. So I think it was Tuesday evening that I came home to a little boy, whose wrists were tied with a rope to our cattle stall. Mom and I were coming home from prayers (Holy Week=daily church), and she said, “What’s this? A thief!” He was surrounded by all of our neighbors, and it was the first time I’ve heard Francis raise his voice. Francis is the man, by the way. (He calls me Danielle-ey, or Danielly, however you pronounce the name that only my cousin Jenny has called me). Apparently the boy has been stealing from our matoke garden for quite some time, and has been stealing—and then selling—saucepans from all our neighbors. Tuesday he was caught, and chased down, as he reached his arm through Irene’s window to steal her purse. Crazy.
The neighbors, all gathered in our backyard, told him they’d forgive him if he returned all the saucepans. He said he sold them to a market woman. So, they went and fetched the market woman, brought her to the house, and she said he was lying. Quite the fiasco. (Fiasco would make a great name for…a cat). Anyway, I went in the house after a while. I couldn’t understand what everyone was shouting anyway, and I feared they might start hitting him. They didn’t, as far as I know. But as I ironed inside, I could hear Aida returning from
Laughing, she said, “Oh yes. Aida’s home.”
Tuesday night prayers, prior to the thievery, Becca and Betsy came along. Which was great. I sat next to Mom, Becca sat next to me, and Betsy sat next to Becca. We played telephone, in ways of translation. I wonder how watered-down the message was for Betsy. But judging from the telephone game we played on the safari, when halfway down the bus my “I don’t care that your uncle’s in the mafia; my uncle is a robot” turned into “I don’t care that you’re in the mafia; I am in the mafia,” maybe Betsy got the most of the service.
Fish. It took me many years to appreciate fish in the states. I douse it with tartar, unless it’s tilapia and made by my mom. And I remember laughing at Melissa Turk (Eich) at Steak N Shake when she ordered fish as a meal. Who does that.
Anyway, the fish here is incredible. Mom bought it at the market the other night, fried I think?, instead of being boiled over the fire. It was crispy and salty, and I don’t care that the eyes were still there. I was sucking on the fin, and asked my mom if I could eat the bones. (I told you it’s incredible). She said some people do, but she wouldn’t recommend it. I nodded, and yeah, I ate the bones.
Another aspect of Tuesday night prayers: Mom forgot some jerry cans in the pews. So I had to run some ways to fetch them. Before I started running, I asked her if it was culturally appropriate. She laughed, and said I could run. But the looks I got…I think she just may have wanted her jerry cans fast. I passed Auntie Victo and she said, “What’s the matter with you?” I ran with my arms folded over my shirt, because, as bitter as I have been growing about being stared and shouted at, I’ve been made more bitter: my sister Jackie reminded me the other night that it isn’t so surprising that the motorcyclists scream their love and devotion, etc. etc. etc. Because what is
But what is funny: on Wednesday, yes I’ll get to Wednesday, while we were in the van and parked, a man on the road told me “Oli Mulunji,” (you’re beautiful), and instead of telling him “Tuswaala,” I felt nice for once, and thanked him. Then Todd put his arm on my shoulder, leaned to the window and said, “I think so too. She’s my wife. In fact, they’re all my wives,” pointing to the van full of girls. Hah. I guess we shouldn’t joke about polygamy here, but regardless, the man gave Todd a thumbs up.
On Wednesday we went to one of only two HIV hospitals worldwide. In
It is called MildMay, and was pretty…I don’t know what it was. But, as we were being given a tour of it, we stopped outside this tent, where about 25 people were getting tested, to know their status. It’s so prevalent here; it is still sinking in.
On the drive home from MildMay, Becca, Erin, Allene and I had V-Money drop us off at the Invisible Children bracelet campaign. A place where a man works from his house, basically, and where some people from the Acholi tribe stay to make bracelets during the day, every day. These bracelets are sold all over, even in the
Similar to meeting Esther, in charge of Compassion, in Kapchorwa, it was surreal and wonderful to see that what we do/give toward in
When I got to my computer after this little visit, I had an email from my school regarding a showing of Invisible Children. I don’t know what else to say about that, other than: it was sweet.
Thursday we went to Luwero, we missions kids. It was my first time blowing out a candle before I go to sleep. It’s quite the experience. The blue of the flame stays for awhile, giving you time to get back into your mosquito net and adjust your pillow. Life is good.
Friday was a Good Friday indeed. Indeed indeed. We went to a Catholic church, from where we started a two hour hike around town, as we followed the drama of Christ’s crucifixion. The Stations of the Cross—my first one, and a Luganda one. There had to be at least 200 people following it around town. And it was sweet: we started at the Catholic church, and ended at the Anglican. The religions/denominations merge for this day. A great example of the Ephesians 4 sort of unity.
I had to keep reminding myself that it was the Stations of the Cross, and that it was Good Friday. Because I was more immersed in the people I walked with. Naiga at my left hand, Ronald on my right. I was so excited when Naiga told me her name was Naiga; I pointed to
Soon after came Ronald. Ronald couldn’t believe my Luganda usage. And because he laughed profusely each time I used it, I used it as much as I could. He made me use it for his friend Mary. She put her hands to her lips and said, “What a sur-prise.” And I think that’s how I want to say surprise from now on.
Ronald is by far the most intelligent 12 year old I have ever met. The first time I realized how wise this kid is: He asked me if my parents were still in
“But you don’t need to worry. All you need is confidence. Minus confidence, you cannot settle. But if you have confidence that the months will move, because they do, then you will be fine. Your first three months have gone, and you are fine, so the next two will not be difficult.” Dang. Not to mention, after that, he asked me about Obama and started telling me about
Ronald told me about his friends from
The miracle came faster than I thought. Saturday morning we went to a home for HIV positive children and/or AIDS orphans. I got off the bus, realized I didn’t want my water bottle, so I took it back to the bus. And as I walked away from the bus, I hear a hello, and Ronald is running towards me. Our bus passed his home, he said, and he ran after it. In tears, I asked Melody for some paper and pen. God is so good.
But what I wanted to say about Friday:
I think I learned the most this Good Friday than I have any other. And it didn’t happen during the “parade”, but after, when we all talked about it. I will share our perceptions, collectively, because this is what hit me.
Todd, the one who looks like Jesus, and who all the Ugandans call Yesu, realized the implications of this during the parade. A man came up to him, said “Yesu,” obviously very confused, and pointed to the black man who was carrying the cross instead, the man who was acting as Jesus. Todd told us the man pointed as if to say, “But aren’t you the one who is supposed…?” I can’t get that picture out of my head. Jesus carrying the cross for us, being nailed for us, while others ask, “Wait. Aren’t you the one who should be where He is? Isn’t this your punishment?” Yes. Yes, it is. Thank God He paid it for us.
And Betsy. As she walked with a little girl, age 12, the girl asked her, “Do you know what is happening?” Betsy, thinking “What? Can’t she see?” said, “Yeah. They’re crucifying Jesus.” The little girl, upset, adamantly said, “No. We’re crucifying Jesus.” They make twelve-year-olds smart here, apparently. Doubly smart.
And for others, it was the fact that Jesus was black that really hit him. That this isn’t just some fictional story, written down so we can retell and retell it. It’s real. Real life, real suffering, in all colors.
And for me, it was when we were walking into the last church, after the parade, that I remembered what Christ’s sacrifice means for me. It was so tangible. I was walking through the doors, with Naiga and Ronald (and another Ronald), but as we headed to some pews, a woman put her arms out, to keep the children back. They had to stand along the staircase and up in the balcony. The pews were for the adults, and the Mazungu. When she stopped them, I turned around and looked at them, trying to figure out what to do—I wasn’t ready to leave them. The woman and I just looked at each other for a few seconds, she said something in Luganda to the kids, they nodded, she pulled her arms up, and smiling, they took my hands again and we sat down.
That’s what Christ’s blood does for us. Without Him, I’m nothing. Nothing I could ever do can get me past my sinful nature, and into everlasting life, both now and after death. When I stand before the Father, I’m sure I’ll disgust Him. Until Jesus says, “Wait. She’s with me.” The Father will look at His Son, remember the price He paid, and then look at me with bright eyes. Yes, I do know you after all.
And what is so beautiful: All I have to do is grab His hands. That’s all. The kids had nothing to claim, no way of their own to convince that woman they should get special privileges. Until they grabbed the white girl’s hands. Everlasting life: it’s all about Who you know.
When I got home from Luwero, our van was greeted by a tiny girl. A little girl I’ve never seen. Hannington’s daughter, Vanessa. She’s adorable; and it’s nice having a child in the house. And it’s nice watching Hannington interact with her, and vice versa. Even though I’m again seeing the culture head-on, knowing she’ll return to the villages to live with her mom in a few days. But I guess our culture is like that too, sadly.
Susan, the one I teach Sunday School with, is living with us now too. For a month. Her school is on holiday; she says she lives with us on the holidays.
About 20 minutes after I got home, Susan asked me to help her oil her hair. It was an experience. A very intimate thing, if you ask me. I don’t really run my hands through anyone’s hair, and to pick at it, and then rub oil into the scalp…with a girl you only see on Sundays…I just wonder what it was like for Jesus to wash His disciples’ feet.
Easter was wonderful yesterday. It didn’t feel like Easter, but who says it has to. It was relaxing. Mama Joyce said it was like we were in
But as we waited in the church before we got picked up, Mama asked me what I thought of the thunder the night before. “I know how much you love thunder,” she said. I told her I didn’t hear any of it.
“What!? My God, you sleep like a log.” She told me she woke up and prayed for awhile, it was so loud. “I should’ve woken you up.” I told her she should have.
But I find I am loving the rain far more than I ever have. I used to love it by association, because my best friend is obsessed with it, and jumping and running through it is only fun when you have a partner. And I just might love it here because I’m a mess anyway, it’s not like we have to worry about hair or anything. But either way, yesterday was beautiful, as wet as it was, and Friday in Luwero (it was scorching hot all day, until 3 o’clock, when the sky grew dark, just as the Bible says, and it stormed like crazy). Erin and I changed into clothes we didn’t care about, and ran through the field. Again, rain is beautiful.
I’m hoping this is something I go back home with. Like hospitality and a relationship-minded mindset. At home, if I’m swamped with homework and someone visits me/wants to have a good long talk, I am worthless as a friend. Sure, I comply, but the entire time my type A personality mind is saying, “Seriously, you have work to do. Seriously, you have work to do. Seriously…” and on it goes. But here, people are never an interruption. People are the priority. If you are running out of your house to catch a flight, and someone stops by for tea, you walk back in your house—without grumbling—and put the kettle on. You miss your flight, but it doesn’t matter. This isn’t just the romanticized view…I’m telling you, this is the view. And I’m jealous of it. I want to take this back and keep it.
I met a man in church yesterday, who wanted to comment on my Luganda. He asked me where I was from, and he said he knew
I like that they take what you say seriously here. Which is maybe why they won’t say “God bless you” every time you sneeze.
The second computer of our
And lastly, if anyone knows when the Olympics are this year, I would welcome such information.
Sorry I just stole an hour of your life.
Monday, March 17, 2008
That one time we drove over the equator.
What I learned this weekend:
Germans are crazy-cool.
Water buffaloes like their privacy.
My hand and
Germans are cool, crazy-cool, because while we showed up at
While a certain water buffalo was “watering the grass”, we stopped the bus and watched. Some people took pictures—only because it was all very impressive. That’s when he started chasing the bus.
My hand and
The only reason we would be afraid of things that look like deer: we had passed these same waterbucks (via bus) on our way to dinner. And two of them were fighting over a girl. Those horns are fierce.
What else are fierce: elephants. They’re fierce if you think about it. If you remember that their birth/gestation process is 22 months, rather than 9, so of all the animals, they are the most protective of their young. And they have tusks and truck-legs to prove it, if they have to.
After 11 hours of driving on Friday (7 hours my eye), we had some trouble getting into the park because it was after dark. And because some elephants were blocking our path.
Two grown, and their kids, were “crossing” the road. Except that just means they were standing there. Driver Charles, the only male on a bus of 24 people, assumed I was the group leader because my seat was right behind him and because I introduced myself at the start of the trip. But I only introduced myself because I was sitting behind him, not because I know whether or not he should take that short-cut in
But then there were the elephants. Charles stopped the bus and asked, “Are we safe?”
He asked if we should keep going. I told the rest of the bus that Charles wanted to know if we should keep going. Betsy and I told Charles that he was the driver, it was his decision. Meanwhile someone yelled, “the whole back of the bus wants to keep driving!” They weren’t listening to Adrienne, a future zoologist if she wanted to, who said the male elephant was agitated. Charles finally pointed out that the elephants had their young with them, so we should turn around. Yet people kept saying, “Keep going,” and “I think elephants are peaceful.” But Charles stuck with his intuition (common sense, maybe?) and reversed.
He drove back to the last evidence of human life we saw—which was thankfully a police car (this was my first time seeing a police car here in
Hah.
What’s funny about all of this, Betsy and I think, is God’s providence. As soon as the police man said this, Betsy gave me a look and said, “What if the people in the back of the bus were sitting behind Charles?” Because Charles really did, all weekend, what we asked him. (For instance: Sunday. Becca was waiting all 11 hours for zebras, because she missed their sighting on the ride there. So when
Sometime during this unscheduled, night-time safari called “travel,” we passed these things that looked a lot like they were from the antelope family. Some sort of impala or gazelle or something.
Clan pride was all over her.
We saw a whole lot of Pumba this weekend. The warthogs walked around the park like stray dogs.
Most of Friday night, instead of sleeping, I looked at the stars through the tent screen and wondered what it is that my family normally sleeps on when we camp. Because surely it’s not rocks. Sunday morning I remembered, and woke up saying, “Air mattresses. That’s what’s missing.”
We had a boat safari and two land ones. The boat ones were for the sake of hippos, of course. I used to think hippos were colorful, friendly guys who eat colored beads when you press their tails. But that’s only a game. “Ghost stories” in the tent, when you’re in
Betsy and I didn’t go on the third safari Sunday morning. The only justification for maybe going would be to see a lion—which we didn’t see in the first one—but in the grand scheme of things, they look the same at the zoo. So we stayed behind, and it was wonderful. It was the first time I’ve really felt on my own since I’ve been here. No schedule, no leader, no massive group of Americans. Just us and the massive lake and our single lonely tent.
I was walking back from the showers when I saw the most humorous thing of the weekend. It was straight from Wild America, the scene with the moose.
Because Betsy was standing at the tent, brushing her hair, as this massive waterbuck slowly walked behind her. What was hilarious, on my end, was the fact that Betsy had no idea it was behind her. It was ridiculously hilarious.
We stayed behind so we could have a Palm Sunday service. This consisted of sitting on two logs, reading the Triumphal Entry passages in the Gospels, and singing with our horrible voices. The crazy-cool Germans’ tent was only feet from us, which made me feel Muslim: only because, very often in
But it was a Palm Sunday I won’t forget. Especially because there was an omelette involved.
Speaking of the Muslim prayers. We pass this massive mosque every time we drive through
What I realized most this weekend, I think—other than how much I miss Arby’s and the movie theatre and my sister—is how wild God is. That Derek guy from last week mentioned in passing how Adam was created in the wilderness, and Eve was created in the garden, and how sweet that is—and that has nothing to do with anything I’m about to say, other than the closeness of the words “wild” and “wilderness.”
But, really, God is so dangerous, awesome (aweful), and untamed; I really do love this about Him. It’s just that, in
P.S. It’s been forever since I’ve done laundry. Because it takes hours, and much pre-planning, there hasn’t been enough time. Which has made for an uncomfortable cycle of the same three outfits, for weeks. My plan was to spend all of Tuesday at home, avoid campus, and get all the laundry done. But last night as I returned home, the massive heap was clean and dried and folded nicely on my bed. Rebecca. I was so thankful, but so upset that she had to do that, that she did do that. My nasty, beyond-Febreeze clothes (red dust makes your clothes unwearable fast). I hugged her and thanked her and apologized, and she brushed it off. “But it was so easy. I did it for love, so it was not hard.”
I so love this family.
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