I was doing home visits last week for the next group of boys coming into the program and I realized, as I bounced all over the place in the back of a rugged van on a dirt road with six Rwandan boys, that my life right now has a whole new definition of normal. Yeah sure, normal now in my daily life means eating a ton of beans and rice, being in the house at 6pm because that's when the sun sets, learning the various handshakes and greetings, using jumbled bits of kinyarwanda to buy things at the market and to get around the city on a moto, making sure my mosquito net is tucked into my bed at night because spiders might get in otherwise (yes, I said spiders), and taking showers via bucket. These things are little things of my new normal. Then there are the bigger things that are forever changing my world view because now that I have seen these things, I can never go back to living and thinking the way I used to. I can no longer live in ignorance. Things like:
Going to visit a family and their house is made of mud and the whole thing is 9 feet by 9 feet at most. And 8 people live and sleep under that roof.
Watch a boy who's only as tall as my waist level search frantically for his bag to put his rain-drenched notebooks in because that little drawstring bag is one of the most valuable things he owns. He is also HIV positive.
Listen to a single mom of seven children tell her story of how she had to leave her abusive husband and live with her mother because she doesn't have a job and can't pay rent for a house.
Watch an older sister struggle to remember where her mother is and who her father is. She and her 4 siblings all have different fathers too.
Pray for a miracle with and for a family of 12 who are getting kicked out of their house because they haven't been able to pay rent in two months.
Give praise to a 13 year-old boy because he finally learned how to correctly read and say "caterpillar."
Travel to homes that are located in places where the only possible way to get to them is to hike for 15 minutes literally up the side of a mountain after driving on a dirt road for what seems like forever.
And there are more stories like these. Every day I interact with these kinds of families and these kinds of boys. And every day I am thankful that God has given me the chance to be a part of their lives and that they are a part of mine.
As a Christian there are many things about God that I take for granted and brush over because I hear it so often. Things like:
God is good.
God is with me.
God is loving.
Sound familiar? I'm sure. Phrases like these are plastered on bumper stickers and key chains and said nonchalantly in passing conversations (and by no means am I downplaying those bumper stickers or key chains). We hear them so often that we forget how truly amazing each of these are, I know I definitely do.
I forget until I'm plopped into a situation where these three truths are all I really have. Living in Africa as a missionary is one of those situations. Everything I have ever known or am familiar with is gone. Everything I have ever depended on is not here to hold my hand. Every familiar face is nowhere nearby. Every daily routine has changed dramatically. Every comfort or distraction I used to run to has been stripped from my side. Every way I have ever communicated is useless. Every way I have ever built relationships no longer seems to work. So what is my go-to? What is my constant? God has to be or I won't make it through a day with sanity. What is my greatest comfort every day in a place and around people that are so unfamiliar? It is something so simple, the simple truth that we hear all the time and take for granted: God is with me. When everything else is unfamiliar, the one thing that is familiar is my God. And it is this familiar God that is with me, as He has promised. I've been listening to a lot of Charlie Hall since being here and one part of one of his songs has stuck with me daily. It's from his song "Constant:"
"God, You are here with us, constantly here with us.
You are our everything, Faithful and True."
I will often listen to this song in the morning while I'm waiting for water to boil so I can make my coffee in a french press (oh, how I miss coffee makers and Keurigs). I can look out the kitchen window and see a lot of the city of Kigali and mountain after mountain. As I begin my day with coffee and Charlie Hall, I remember that the great Maker of those mountains and of this city is the same God who is constantly here with me, never leaving even when everything else is unfamiliar.
Now I turn to some other circumstances, but also still immersed in the same living-in-Africa situation. I compare to it to being like a bug trapped under a cup. God has me in a season of isolation, a season where there is nowhere I can turn or escape, a season where I can't see the road two feet in front of me. But it is also a season of being surrounded by Him, where I am hemmed in on every side. Heavy heartedness has marked this season as I have lost friends and solid relationships have fallen out. God has been teaching me hard and difficult lessons. He has also been disintegrating every plan I've had and leading me in a direction I always thought I would run from. Seasons of isolation such as these aren't as unfamiliar; I have battled depression for the past eight years and the bug under a cup feeling is a common occurrence with that battle. Even when I just want to lie in the middle of the floor and say, "I'm throwing in the towel, I'm done," I look at the circumstances, know that God has ordained them, and know that God is doing a mighty mighty work for His glory and in my life that is beyond my comprehension. This is where the other truths that seem so simple and overused become incredible and a huge comfort. It's something so simple: God is good and God is loving. God is good despite what the circumstances might look like; He is good because His purposes through these circumstances are what's best. God is loving despite how difficult it is; He is loving because He never leaves me for one moment and it's through these circumstances that draws me closer to Himself.
It's something so simple that sustains me every day. Even when I saw none of this coming, it's something so simple that helps me get up in the morning and know without a doubt that He has me here in Rwanda at this very moment for a reason. It's something so simple and it's all I need, He's all I need.
I don't know if I've mentioned the term "mzungu" before, but in case I haven't allow me to explain. "Mzungu" literally means "white person" in kinyarwanda (the common language here). It's not a derogatory term, it's just what they call white people, whether it be Americans or Europeans. Even though I might not understand the language most of the time, it's very easy to pick out the term "mzungu" in a sentence, therefore, very easy to know if people are talking about me as I'm walking down the street :) Being a mzungu has its disadvantages; you get stared at like you have arms growing out of your face, you get charged ridiculous prices for pretty much everything (but when I argue back with the little kinyarwanda I know, they tend to resort to the "Rwandan" price), people look at you, see your white skin, and think money money money (which I don't have much of), and did I mention you get stared at a lot? Most days I'm not a fan of being white, but it does have its advantages. If I were to walk across the street, I'm less likely to get hit by a car because the punishment for harming a mzungu is worse than for harming a Rwandan (kinda corrupt, I know, but it works out for me). And it's pretty easy to track down a moto because the moto drivers think that because I'm white I'm lost and need serious help getting to where I need to go.
ANYWAY...speaking of motos.
Motos are the common taxis here and they are motorcycles. Yes, I ride on the back of a motorcycle to get to my every day places. There are regular car taxis, but those are significantly more expensive; taking a moto is dirt cheap. Besides, car taxis aren't nearly as much...fun? It's always an adventure taking a moto.
Number one, the drivers speak zero to little English. Take a white girl like me, who speaks zero to little kinyarwanda, throw in the guy who speaks zero to little English and who's supposed to get me from point A to point B, and you've got quite a mess of sign language and directions. If I'm desperate I'll call a Rwandan friend and have them talk to the moto driver on the phone.
Number two, you think the initial part of telling the moto driver where to go is tricky? Just wait until he starts driving. Sometimes even he doesn't know where to go, so the new white girl in town (me) has to direct the non-English-speaking driver around a city where I'm still learning where everything is.
Number three, the actual driving. Some drivers are better than others, like in the US, except with fewer driving rules. They fly over speed bumps, they weave in and out of the lane against oncoming traffic, sometimes they stop at stop lights and sometimes they don't, and they squeeze in between two lanes of cars due to impatience (I swear I'm going to lose a kneecap due to hitting a car's side mirror one of these days). Oh, and sometimes as they're weaving in the lane or flying over speed bumps they'll talk on the phone. And cobblestone roads are not your friend.
Number four, the adventure calms down here, as paying the driver is probably the easiest part. I know what it costs to get to various places from home, so if they try to rip me off I at least know how to say "no, that's too much money" in kinyarwanda.
So there you have it. Moto adventures. I will admit, it does fulfill my adrenaline needs.
I'll leave you with a YouTube video tour of my apartment, since I know most of your are curious as to what it looks like and pictures are nowhere near adequate.
Culture shock paid me a visit last week. It wasn't pleasant. I've been here almost two weeks and already there have been a couple days where I've wondered, "What the heck am I doing?!" There have been times where I would certainly prefer curling up on my couch with my dog with a glass of wine in hand and fall asleep to a movie over battling stomach issues, being in a place where I can't understand the language being spoken, and sometimes having no running water. It's the little things that I miss. Yes, I miss being a phone call away from my family. I miss randomly showing up at friends' houses to watch Friends. I miss my church and the familiar faces inside it. I miss coaching softball. I miss being able to watch my Hokie football dominate on Saturday and my Dolphins more than likely lose on Sunday. I miss being a short drive away from Panera and ice cream. I will admit I miss getting back scratches. Yes, I do miss these things. I miss what's comfortable and familiar. Guess what? I'm human.
However, once the wave has rolled over...
I remember what God did to bring me to this exact place. I remember all the things that He has provided. I remember that's it's not my own strength that helps me through. I remember that it's not a passion that I gave to myself, it's God's passion for these kids that becomes my daily strength. It's the little things that remind me why I'm here. It might be one of the boys running into the office to give me a hug with a huge grin on his face. It might be the squeal of a little girl next door as she runs over wanting to give the mzungus (white people) a hug. It might be the "What did you learn in school today?" or "Be good and have a good day at school tomorrow!" that comes out of my mouth and I realize that I'm practicing to be a mom already. It might be seeing the dependency that the people here have on God and how it makes me re-examine my own dependency on Him. Most days it's knowing that the next 50 boys coming through the program will be changed throughout the next year.
Every day it's knowing that the work that I'm doing here for a year is worth SO MUCH MORE than enjoying what's comfortable for the rest of the time.
My little thing for today:
Seeing all the boys in their school uniforms on the first day of the term.
Keep praying. I'm in for a ride. And I yearn to keep my eyes on what is above throughout it all.
Day three in Rwanda has come and gone and from the very minute that I stepped off the plane life has been different. Life is simple. It's a different routine than what I'm used to and I'm having to re-learn how and where to buy certain things, how to communicate, how to travel, how to get from work to home and from home to work, and even how to shower. But it's all simple. There aren't many distractions and I'm a huge fan of that. One thing I have noticed is that such a drastic change in lifestyle has really created a spirit of thankfulness and rejoicing. It's the littlest things that bring a smile to my face and it's by living here that I see how much of my daily life I have to be thankful about:
I rejoice because it rained today. I rejoice because the baby that I can hear crying beneath my window has a roof over his head in the rain. I rejoice because we have running water. I rejoice that I was able to find wire and nails to hang a shower curtain. I rejoice because the radio that our neighbor likes to play at odd hours of the night beneath my window will play an occasional country song (it brings an even bigger smile to my face to hear Rwandans try to sing country music). I rejoice because the boys at the Dream Center were able to put together their very own "Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See?" book as a craft...and they just learned how to use scissors and glue. I rejoice because the church in Rwanda is alive. I rejoice because God is the Great Provider every day for most of the people I see and meet. I rejoice because God has allowed me to live in one of the greatest places on earth, despite what it might look like from the outside.
What I'm really excited about is the fact that this one year in Rwanda isn't just some short-term adventure that will come and fade away. This is just the beginning. God is just now moving into motion what He gave me a passion for four years ago: to make His name known and praised in Central Eastern Africa. I'm excited because He will work in ways I can't begin to imagine. I'm excited because I'm right where I'm supposed to be. My life isn't being put on pause for a year. For me, this is just the beginning of my life. This is but a taste of what is to come. Tonight, I go to bed with a smile on my face because I am living in Rwanda with the chance to love serve His people and those that have yet to know Him.
I'll set the stage a little bit. As I'm thinking through and writing this post I've got the YouTube video of David After the Dentist running through my head. While it's not necessarily how I'm reacting, it's a good laugh. My friends and I reference this quite often.
So it's official. I will leave Washington DC on August 22nd at 5:49 in the evening and will land in Kigali on August 23rd at 6:45 in the evening. The ticket is bought, I have my seat, and my reservation shows up on the United Airlines website. I had sent an email a few weeks ago to the Africa New Life staff in Rwanda letting them know when I would arriving in Rwanda and after I hit the send button, it hit me all at once. I'm. Going. To. Rwanda. This is real life.
I've watched God bring everything together in ways that I didn't expect through the least likely of people. I've been humbled and reminded that none of this is in my own power. I've been put in so many circumstances that forces me remember that God is faithful and true and that not for one second does He ever leave me. I've learned that there is nothing that I can do to thwart God's sovereign plans and purposes. He will have His way whether I cooperate or not. Above all this, I've learned that He is all I need. Regardless of what else looks good or comfortable or even rational, He is all I need. I found a quote from John Bunyan that has been sticking with me:
"I was driven to such straits that I must of necessity go to Jesus; and if He
had met me with a drawn sword in His hand, I would sooner have thrown
myself on the edge of His sword than have gone away from Him; for I know
Him to be my last hope."
He is my last hope, depite whatever comes...and a lot is about to come. I'm excited, don't get me wrong, I can't wait to see how God will move and work. He has gone to such great lengths to get me here that I can only anticipate great and miraculous things. And I can anticipate that I will know Him in ways that I have never known Him before.
He is my last hope and He will do what He has promised.
The hymn "It is Well" has been playing over and over in my head since the beginning of June. At my CTEN orientation, we would start out mornings with worship. It was quite an experience and privilege to worship with 30 or so other missionaries. There is something so comforting and encouraging about being in fellowship with other missionaries; so many in the same place with the same core passion. Even though we are of all ages, going to serve in all the corners of the earth, come from different walks of life, and have various ministries, we have the same passion for God's name to be known across the world, in every tongue, tribe, and nation. And only God knows what lies ahead for each of us. Who knows, some of us might even die for our faith, but regardless the song on our hearts is this:
"When peace like a river attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll,
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say
It is well, it is well with my soul,
It is well with my soul."
I can't forget the sound of all of us singing this hymn. It's the sound of God's peace that surpasses any kind of understanding.
