Control Issues

You know those days when everything goes wrong? That was my Friday.

I planned to drive down to Atlanta yesterday at noon. I had reserved a car with a certain car rental company that rhymes with "Schmenterprise". After waiting 20 minutes in line behind some (shady) guy (who was getting asked about his full background info, making him seem even more shady), I was informed that they had no cars to rent. 

A car rental place. 

That I had reserved a car with. 

That had no cars. 

Something is very very wrong with this picture. They offered no help after that so I drove to another rental place (Hertz to the rescue!) and finally got on the road.

With an hour delay to my trip, I was ready to get to Atlanta. Sadly, Atlanta was apparently not ready to have me.

There was a major accident right before Charlotte. Major as in the entire interstate on the other side was completely blocked off. Three ambulances. One firetruck. Many police cars. Lots of stopped traffic. Once I got through that, it was all stopped again. Due to my numerous delays, I ended up hitting rush hour evening traffic all throughout South Carolina.

Stop. Go. Stop. Go.

I was really really ready to get to Atlanta.

I got to my friend’s house over two hours later than expected. We had decided to wait for dinner until I got there. Needless to say, we devoured dinner after 9pm.

I hit the point before I even left Lynchburg where I just gave up. Not in a bad way though. It was a giving up of control. I knew that I could do nothing that would change the situation so I just resolved that I would get there when I got there and not stress out about it. 

There’s so much in my life right now that I have no control over. Perhaps God was giving me a hint for everything else: “Give it up. You’re not in control. I AM.”

Easier said than done, right? 

What’s something that you’ve given up having control over?

Pumpkins and Witch Doctors

For many, Halloween conjures up childhood memories of dressing up in costumes and traversing around the neighborhood to get as much candy as possible. My childhood memories of Halloween are more along the lines of hiding in our basement with all the lights off. Halloween was the big no-no holiday. Our church didn’t even have any kind of Harvest Festival. It was the devil’s holiday and we steered clear. It wasn’t until college that I attended some Halloween costume parties and dressed up. I never carved a pumpkin until my first year in Uganda.

We expats on our compound celebrated Halloween and bought pumpkins to carve. Pumpkins in Uganda are green and much (much) harder to carve than American ones. I didn’t realize how much harder they were until I carved an American one this year. Adding to the difficulty in carving was that our electricity was on and off the entire night. We kept our headlamps on during carving and turned them on when needed.

It added to the adventure of it all, don’t you think?

I burned some pumpkin scented candles that my friends had sent me and we all tried to pretend that we were in the States for a night. Once we finished carving, we lit them and set them out on our porch.

We left them on the porch for a few days but with the Ugandan heat, it didn’t take them long to rot. My roommate tossed them near the wall of our compound to get them out of the way.

A couple days later, our day guard Biajo approached my roommate in concern: “Your neighbors have put a curse on you! They have taken these pumpkins, drawn horrible faces on them and thrown them over your wall. You have been cursed!”

We laughed and explained that silly American tradition to him which, I’m sure, still made absolutely no sense. Why would we carve such faces into pumpkins? And, actually, why do we? I should probably look that up.

It reminds me of the stronghold that witchcraft and spiritism have in Uganda. When I first studied Animism in my graduate program, all that I researched told me that as people moved to urban areas, their belief in the traditional religion decreased. Living in the capital city of Kampala for two years taught me that this wasn't true. Witch doctors are active. The beliefs of traditional religion seep into the church. Child sacrifice is growing in Uganda. I heard about it often while being there but news has been spreading thanks to the BBC highlighting the business of child sacrifice in Uganda, which has now spread abroad. The BBC went undercover in Uganda to show what a money maker killing children has become (read and watch here) but also that this has spread to England as children are abducted, smuggled into the country and sacrificed there (read and watch here). 

Crazy, right? It's so far out of what we think is possible in America. It's too horrific to even imagine. Not only is it happening but it's increasing and spreading. The spiritual battle is raging in Uganda. It confirms to me that where God is leading me is the right direction. More than rice, clean water or shoes, Uganda needs Christ. 

The Very Worst Missionary

Friends of mine recently told me about a blog called The Very Worst Missionary.  I thought,  “no fair, that’s my title”. I’ve been a self-proclaimed Very Worst Missionary for awhile now. I can’t believe someone beat me to it.

I’ve explained before how God literally kicked me into missions. I never planned or expected it. I never thought that I fit “the mold”. I still don’t. I don’t know what you picture when you hear the word “missionary” but my picture looks nothing like me. Aren’t missionaries like super Christians, with capes, a KJV Bible and a whip to ward off all snakes and vermin? Because I’m not that. I know my weaknesses. I’m not spiritual enough. I need to know more Scripture. I struggle with sin. I don’t know all the answers.

I’m inadequate.

But, aren’t we all?

When God calls us to something, it’s overwhelming. I’m a details person. My mind immediately goes to all that needs to be done. To-Do lists abound. The questions then come. How on earth will all of this work out? How is this going to be possible? How can I do this?

On my own, I can’t do this. On my own, I would fall flat on my face.  On my own, I would crumble. I am so weak.

I went to a conference last week. God taught me so much through it, a big one being: He is present in our lives. Let me be more specific: He is present in my life.

God’s not sending me back to Uganda alone. This school isn’t getting built by me. It’s not me who will be teaching these girls. It’s not my love that the girls will experience.

It’s not about me or my ability.

God is present in my life right now and won’t leave. Ever. He will be present as I move back to Uganda. He will build this school. He will teach these girls. He will love them unconditionally, far more than I ever could. In all of my weakness, He is there.

He is, in fact, my strength.

A Homesick Double Agent

As much as I have adjusted back to living like an American, there are times that I am overwhelmed at how different my two lives are. It’s in the little things.

I was looking out the window at my friend’s house recently. It was an average American neighborhood, really. The road was nicely paved. There were sidewalks lined by the well-kept green grass yards. A squirrel scurried around the yard, looking for food. Children played across the street. A man jogged by. One could barely hear any distinct noises. The air-conditioning in the house was keeping everyone cool on that summer day. The houses had been planned to be there. The neighborhood and the surrounding streets connected. It was well planned out. It was all so…so…American looking.

There is no such comparison to a Ugandan neighborhood. There were no dirt roads.  In fact, there was little dirt to be seen. There was no trash littering the ground. There were no walls surrounding each house. There were neither bars on the window that I was looking out nor bars on any doors or windows in the neighborhood. You could not hear the sound of traffic, horns blowing, music blaring, cows mooing, chickens squawking, goats bleating, or taxi conductors yelling. There were no open fires burning trash (which meant no smoke blowing into the house…what a novelty). There was no loud revival/church service/Muslim call to prayer/concert/neighbor parties/any other excuse for a loud speaker to project the event into your living room. The houses weren’t haphazardly put in place.

There are times where it’s hard for me to believe that these two worlds exist on the same planet. They’re so different from each other. It’s hard to explain this to people as there’s no way to fully describe it. Though I can try to put into words what life is like in America to Ugandans but they can’t possibly understand. I try to explain Uganda to Americans and the same problem is there.

I have two homes and both are home to me in different ways. 

It kind of makes me feel like a secret agent living a double life. I just need a gun. And Chloe talking into my ear. And Jack Bauer. I need him.

They say that home is where your heart is. It’s true…and my home is a land with dirt roads, livestock running around and the most beautiful people in the world.

I’m homesick.

Single? And A Missionary? To Africa?

My parents and I went to the Iowa State Fair last month. I saw a booth for an ostrich farm and got excited. Why? Because ostrich meat = delicious! You didn't know? Anyway, there was an older man there and I inquired about getting some ostrich meat and about how they raise them. It came up that I went to an ostrich farm in Kenya (there’s nothing like holding an ostrich egg, seeing ostriches from baby to adult and then eating a sumptuous ostrich meal. Every bite is a piece of delicious guilt.). It then came up that I lived in Uganda for the past two years after which inevitably came out that I’m moving back to Uganda…for good.

Then it happened…as it has happened so many times before. And I mean, SO many times. It’s almost like they have a script.

The Scenario: The person finds out that I’m single and moving to Africa and they respond almost word for word with this:

“I mean, you’re a pretty girl…you have a nice personality…and you’re single? And moving to Africa?”

While it’s encouraging for a stranger to compliment my looks and personality (ok, it's usually creepy), they can’t possibly understand. Usually the person saying this is a stranger so I don’t delve too deep into it. But for you? I shall. In fact, it’s a topic that I’m dearly passionate about.

It’s conversations like these that remind me that what God has called me to isn’t exactly considered “normal” by American standards. Sometimes I like to feign innocence, “What? It’s not normal for a late 20-something single American girl to move to Africa? Say it ain’t so!”. Ok, fine, I usually just think that in my head. The American expectation is to go to college, get married, have 2.5 kids and get a house with a white picket fence. My sophomore year of college, God gave me distaste for that expectation and though I had no idea what He would do, I knew that my life wouldn’t be that.

However, I never (never never) expected to be a missionary. I definitely never expected to be single at my age. None of this was a part of my plan. And if God would have let me in on this little life plan years ago? I would have never agreed to it. In fact, I would have run the other way screaming.

But…now? I couldn’t dream it any bigger or better than this. It was God that put these crazy desires in my heart and because of that, I wouldn’t want it any other way. I can’t imagine not living in Uganda. I can’t imagine not being able to work with Ugandan high school girls. I don’t even want to imagine that. There is absolutely nothing else that I’d rather do. 

Bottom line: I would rather have the peace of God by living in His will than anything else…even marriage. I still would love to get married. In fact, I really desire that and pray that it’s a part of God’s great plan for my life.  However, my To Do list doesn’t come before God’s. I won’t let my desire for marriage or anything else get in the way of what God is calling me to.

Now, that clearly comes with a lot of steps of surrender. This is not a one stop surrender shop. I could tell you about the little and big steps that God had me surrender to over the years and how many times I have to surrender this daily. These are things that God and I have had pleeeeenty of long conversations about. It all comes back to obedience and surrender to Him above anything and everything else, no matter how difficult it is. No matter how insane it seems to anyone else. No matter how much it doesn’t make sense, even to me.

I’ve been in the book of Jeremiah for quite awhile now. It’s encouraging to see that I’m not the only one who was called to do crazy counter-cultural things for God.  In fact, my life is pretty normal compared to what God had Jeremiah do. The Bible is actually darn well chock full of people who did wild things for God that made absolutely no sense to them or those around them. My favorite Bible verse encourages me all the more. I especially like how The Message version says it:

“Do you see what this means—all these pioneers who blazed the way, all these veterans cheering us on? It means we'd better get on with it. Strip down, start running—and never quit! No extra spiritual fat, no parasitic sins. Keep your eyes on Jesus, who both began and finished this race we're in. Study how he did it. Because he never lost sight of where he was headed—that exhilarating finish in and with God—he could put up with anything along the way: Cross, shame, whatever. And now he's there, in the place of honor, right alongside God. When you find yourselves flagging in your faith, go over that story again, item by item, that long litany of hostility he plowed through. That will shoot adrenaline into your souls! (Hebrews 12:1-3)

What are some crazy things that God has called you to? 

Reverse Culture Shocked

It happened in the egg section at Wal-mart. I surveyed the numerous options of eggs (small? medium? large? different brands? organic?) and felt the panic in my stomach rising. In Uganda, there was only one choice when buying eggs. I was now faced with about 15. I repeatedly asked myself, “what’s the normal American choice to make? Just make the normal choice…but what’s the normal choice?”. 

On another trip to the grocery store, the cashier asked me if I wanted something in a bag. I raised my eyebrows and looked away. A few awkwardly silent seconds later, the cashier asked me the question again. I then realized that I had answered the Ugandan way, not the American one.

A couple nights before the 4^th of July, I was at home and started hearing these popping noises outside. I was immediately transported back to my home in Uganda, wondering if I was hearing tear gas guns and rifles. My heart started beating faster as I tried to assess what was happening outside my window. Living in a home without bars on the doors and windows had been hard enough to adjust to. Even after figuring out that it was the neighbors setting off fireworks, I wasn’t able to calm down.

During a visit at my church’s youth group, I was about 10 handshakes in when I thought, “huh, I bet shaking hands isn’t the most common way to greet American teenagers” but I couldn’t think of what else to do.

After eating at an Asian restaurant, I discovered that one of the workers was from Indonesia. His accent was thick and without meaning to, I started talking with a Ugandan accent. Apparently talking to someone with any kind of accent brings it out. I was mortified.

It’s reverse culture shock. Though I had experienced it in a small way in coming back from short term missions trips (I have a whole theory on the differences of short term reverse culture shock and long term but that’s for another day), I had never experienced it in this way. One of my first weeks back, a missionary couple from my church was heading back to the field. In a prayer, my pastor mentioned how they had experienced a time of having the comforts of American life. I smiled from my pew knowing that; in fact, it was harder for them to come back to America than to go back to their African home. I guess it’s easy for people to assume that American life is easy and that life in Africa is difficult and thus, it’s easier for missionaries to be back in the States. Though there are definitely parts of American life that are great (two words: Air. Conditioning. Ok, two more: Fast. Internet.) I’ve wrestled with the “why”. America IS my home. This is the country that I was born and raised in. This is the culture that I know…right? However, when I moved to Uganda, I expected it to be different. I expected to have to adjust. I expected nothing to be “normal”. Coming back to America, I expected to be normal. After two years of not fitting into a culture, I expected to be able to fit in. Being gone from the States for two years, I had lost what it meant to live a “normal” American life and make “normal” American choices. Making those decisions, even as small as buying eggs, stressed me out and often, I panicked.

I'm now living in a third culture. I have my American culture and my Ugandan culture but with both of those mashing together, it creates this third culture: an American-Ugandan mix. No matter how long I live in Uganda, I’ll never fully fit in (my skin color alone will make sure of that). The longer I live away from the States, the less that it will feel like home. From this point on, neither culture will be completely home. 

I have no doubt that I'll be able to add many more awkward stories to my third culture resume. For your entertainment, of course.

Martha, Martha, Martha...

Twice this month the story of Mary and Martha was told at my church: once during Sunday’s sermon and another at a Ladies Night Out. Hm, I think God was trying to tell my church the ladies in my church some of us me something. Specifically, at our Ladies Night Out, we were given time to reflect on the passage more. As a natural planner, I can always relate to Martha. God struck me in a more personal way this time.

For those unfamiliar with the story, let me give you a quick recap, Sarah style. It starts when Martha opens her home to Jesus (we could do a whole blog on that right there but, I digress). A whole party gets started and Martha goes into full on party planning detail mode. I’m picturing some major market shopping, cleaning, cooking, etc. If she’s anything like me, she probably wrote a big long To Do list and got a ridiculous amount of satisfaction every time she got to cross one of the items off. Mary, her sister and party planning helper, is sitting at the feet of Jesus, soaking in His words. Not so much into the whole party planning helper mode. When Martha (oh so tactfully) mentions to Jesus that, “wouldn’t it be cool if my sister helped me with all this party goodness instead of sitting here doing nothing?”, she gets a shocker of an answer: “Martha, Martha,” the Lord answered, “you are worried and upset about many things, but few things are needed—or indeed only one, Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.” (Luke 10:41-42).

Oh. Snap.

Picture Martha’s face for a second. Eyes widened, eyebrows raised, and an expression that’s a mix of surprise, shame and confusion.

While I originally started thinking of my natural tendency to plan (and over plan), God took it a step further.

What if?

What if…instead of going party planning crazy, Martha also sat at the feet of Jesus, soaking in His words? Her to-do list wouldn’t get done.  The house would be dirty. Food wouldn’t be bought much less cooked. People wouldn’t get invited. Or, people would show up and nothing would be ready. There was just So. Much. To. Do.

But…

Think of what Jesus COULD have done. Think of the miracles that COULD have been performed.

“What? The food isn’t ready? No biggie, I do this thing with bread and fish. You’ll have leftovers for weeks. What? We ran out of wine? No problem. Got any water? Check this out...”

I mean, think of the possibilities. Think of how God’s glory COULD have been shown that day. And, going further, think of how God’s glory could be shown in my life every day that I stifle with my plans and my To Do list.

That hit me hard.

These past few months have been planner months for me. My To Do list is still monstrous. I’ve been getting everything together to start support raising again. And planning planning planning.

You know the funny thing? God has seriously been doing miracles left and right. I’ve literally been shocked at how He’s working. The funny part? All those miracles have had NOTHING to do with any of the planning I’ve done. Nothing. At all. It’s like God’s been repeatedly saying: “This is my deal. I got this. Yeah, there’s a lot of money that needs to be raised but…I got this. I’m going to work in people’s lives. And, you know, I own some cattle…on a few hills…”.  

As some icing on that cake, I’ve been listening to the song “Restless” by Audrey Assad on repeat. I’ll close with the lyrics, which is also my prayer:

You dwell in the songs that we are singing
Rising to the Heavens
Rising to Your heart
Our praises filling up the spaces
In between our frailty and everything You are
You are the keeper of my heart

And I'm restless
I’m restless
'Til I rest in You
(Oh God I wanna rest in You)

Oh speak now for my soul is listening
Say that You have saved me
Whisper in the dark
'Cause I know You’re more than my salvation

Without You I am hopeless
Tell me who You are
You are the keeper of my heart

Still my heart
Hold me close
Let me hear a still small voice
Let it grow
Let it rise
Into a shout
Into a cry

I am restless until I rest in You