In Light of the Son

It was a misty, foggy morning. When the sun crested the horizon, the bright whiteness was blinding. As I biked past the fields of ripening grains, I paused to behold their splendor. Each stalk glistened in the sunlight, making the vastness appear to be made up of a million, trillion, zillion sparkling diamonds. Wow. The rush of beauty overwhelmed me.

I turned to look at the field behind me, expecting a similar scene. Disappointingly, the stalks bent their weary heads, heavy with dew, but there was no sparkle. No glistening drops…

I returned my gaze to the first field—just as magnificent as I had left it. Then, I recognized the reason for the difference: beauty is seen by looking toward the sun. When I turned my back to the sun, the burdened grasses seemed plain and unimportant; when I turned my face to the sun, these same kind of grasses appeared to be arrayed in precious gems.

 

We may be burdened by the “dew” of life: tasks that come to rest on our shoulders, cares that cause us to bow our weary heads. If we choose to turn our backs on the Son, we will fail to recognize the blessing of the burden; but in looking to the Son, we will be awed by the beauty of it all. Each drop of pain sparkles in light of the Son.

(Written on Friday, April 4^th, 2014)

18th-century America, or 21st-century Tanzania?

“Miss Teacher! Look!” The animated voices raised my suspicions as I turned to see what the commotion was all about. In the doorway stood Esta, one of the tallest, most mischievous girls in Standard Three, her outstretched hand displaying a dead rat. The ugly creature, dangling limply by his tail, caused a wave of interruption to sweep across the mass of easily-distracted students. Before I could decide what plan of action was best for regaining control of the zoo, Esta dropped the rat in a watering can near the door and sauntered back to her desk, proud of the disorder she had caused.

Sometimes I feel as if I am teaching in an 18^th-century-one-room-school-house on the western frontier…

Esta

(Written on the evening of Wednesday, March 19, 2014 – about Monday morning science class…)

 

The Son Changes Everything

For some reason, I tend to think that things will always stay the same, so when change occurs, it catches me off-guard. I held off taking pictures of some things upon my arrival at Kibidula, assuming I would capture those scenes at a later time. However, fields have grown. Flowers have died.

Things have changed.

You know, most of these changes happen because of the sun. The sun doesn’t just affect growing things, either… Bright blue school uniforms turn a slate gray. It doesn’t happen overnight, but over the course of time, change is evident. Indeed, sometimes this change transpires quite rapidly: Brianna left a red t-shirt on the clothesline for two days while she was in Iringa; when she returned, the red had faded to a dark pink everywhere the fabric had been exposed to the sun.

You know, change comes about due to the sun, but all change comes from the SON. Things grow. Hearts are warmed. Dark places are enlightened. Sometimes change occurs quite rapidly, sometimes years pass before a difference is noted, but the SON affects everything.

When I spend time in the SON, self fades. Character grows. God is glorified.

(Journal entry, March 14^th, 2014)

A Picture of Heaven

You should have heard the exclamations of impossibility as I gave my Standard Two class their assignment: Draw a picture of heaven. “But Miss Teacher, we don’t know because we have not seen!” True enough, yet I want them to stretch their imaginations today.

“You could draw the New Jerusalem. You could draw animals. You could draw yourself and what you imagine yourself doing in heaven someday... Or, you could draw a picture of God and His throne…”

“Ah!” The entire class gasped in disbelief, as if I had asked them to do something heretical. Had I? I don’t believe so. If we keep our minds on things of earth and things we have seen, how can we ever learn of the things of heaven?

I love watching twenty second-graders conquering the impossible…

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“Miss Teacher!” The tallest student in the class (Daudi, or David) who sometimes translates for me, runs over to the desk where I’m sitting, proudly waving the picture he has drawn. “You see, I am flying!” The little body he has drawn on the page floats above the scenery. Yes, I see. You are flying. Not just in that picture—I can see your heart is flying, too…

(Journal entry, March 14^th, 2014)

Storms in Africa

Viewing the beauty of an approaching storm as I bike home from school.

 

 

Cold, wet, muddy, and-- HAPPY! :)

 

Rain falling on green pastures.



Circumstancial Thoughts

"How you see your circumstance is all about a choice…”

As I again pedaled downhill through the mud and pouring rain, I was reminded of the fact that although we cannot always choose our circumstances, we can choose the attitude in which we respond to those circumstances. I may be wet, cold, and muddy. Those are circumstances I cannot change, but, I can be wet, cold, muddy, and miserable—or I can be wet, cold, muddy, and happy J The choice is up to me.

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There are so many things I wish I did not have to experience here, but there are so many more things I would miss out on, had I not the ability to experience them...

If I didn’t have a sense of smell, I wouldn’t have to smell the stench of pit latrines. But if I didn’t have a sense of smell, I would miss out on the incense of freshly-cut eucalyptus branches.

If I didn’t have a sense of sight, I wouldn’t have to view violence and neglect. But if I didn’t have a sense of sight, I would miss out on the beautiful smiles that light up those occasional grueling moments of teaching.

If I didn’t have a sense of touch, I wouldn’t have to feel the bites of angry siafu (army ants). But if I didn’t have a sense of touch, I would miss out on the feel of a young hand clasping mine.

If I didn’t have a sense of taste, I wouldn’t have to taste Tanzanian hot peppers (one of which I spooned whole into my mouth, thinking it was a chunk of carrot—surprise!). But if I didn’t have a sense of taste, I would miss out on the delicious abundance of freshly-harvested fruits.

Seated atop the rough-cut boards that constitute a tree house, breathing in the clean air, feeling the mist of raindrops on my skin, and overlooking the acacia-tree filled valley, I decide that, yes, I am glad I can experience ALL of this. Beauty overwhelms pain. Life is worth living…

 

(Written in March 2014)

Heart- Mender

The moment I stepped into the Standard Two classroom, I sensed that something was different. Where was the noise, the pre-class chaos? As I quickly scanned the room, I saw that several children were crying, their little heads bent over on their desks. With closer observation, I realized with apprehension that half of my class of twenty students had silent tears cascading down their chocolate cheeks.

“What happened?” I asked nobody in particular. I half-expected to hear that the children had been punished, but… half my class? No, it couldn’t be. I tapped the shoulder of a pupil I knew spoke English more clearly than his classmates. “What’s the matter?” He turned away in silence, burying his sorrow in the sleeve of his school uniform sweater.

The nearest un-tearstained face turned towards me. Usually a trouble-maker, this young scholar was very much subdued as he tried to explain to me in his fragmented English “Selina… going home… leaving…” Now I understood. Selina, an eighteen-year-old student missionary, has been teaching at the school for six months now. She returns to Europe next week. Today was her last day at the Primary School.

“You are sad because Selina is leaving?”

“Yes,” came the downcast reply.

I spent the next hour mending broken hearts. Little arms clung to me. Little heads burrowed into my shoulder. Little hearts foraged for hope. Silent captives of Tanzanian culture were permitted to show emotion.

Once the tears had subsided, I asked the class if they would like to draw pictures for Selina that she could take back home with her. I saw a spark light up the classroom at the suggestion. For the next few minutes, all the children were busily drawing, writing their names with care so that Selina would not forget them. We went on to play with play-dough, and the opportunity to create helped return smiles to the dejected faces, purpose to the shattered spirits.

My heart was overwhelmed with appreciation for God’s leading. I very well might not have come to this place at this time. I might not have accepted responsibility for teaching this class. I know that, of myself, I would not have had the boldness to transcend cultural protocol in order to hug my hurting students. How wonderful a God we serve! He knew these children at this primary school were going to need to sense His compassion today. He used me as a vessel, to overflow His love to them. Praise His name, for His ways are past finding out!

But how hard will it be on these precious children when I leave after being here for six months?

(Written on Friday afternoon, March 7, 2014)

Candy-Coated Tanzania

Most people where I come from have a candy-coated picture of Tanzania. They believe that every person here lives a beautiful life. An American’s imaginings of Tanzanian life is as distorted as the way Tanzanians view America. One of my Standard Seven students today stared in disbelief after I informed him that there are poor people in America.

Tanzania is not all it appears to be on the surface. The children are not all innocent. The parents do not all raise their children well. There is rarely an optimum home environment.

Adventist parents have confessed that they don’t know where their children are late at night. Youths spend money and hours of sleep or study to pay a villager for a few hours of worthless television.

Standard Three students pass around inappropriate notes during English class.

Harsh beatings are the way parents show that they care for the standing of their children.

If a student does something deemed unacceptable, he is either made a spectacle of before the entire school assembly, or his parents come and ruthlessly beat him until he is curled up in a fetal position on the cement floor.

I could give you names to go with these stories, but I won’t. Suffice it to say, I have witnessed corruption. My heart has cried a great many tears. I don’t know how to stand for the right without falling for the wrong. I can't change the way life is lived in Tanzania, but I can live my life in Tanzania, and so be a reflection of something different for all who care to see.

How one views those in authority, greatly affects how one views God. Authority figures here-- elders, parents, teachers, pastors-- are obeyed out of fear. How can I exemplify an obedience that responds out of love? This is my challenge: how do I show these students a clear picture of God? They view Him as One waiting to beat them when they make a mistake. They view Him as someone who doesn’t really care where they spend their time, as long as they come home in time for dinner. They view Him as someone with whom there is no reason to discuss their burdens, feelings, and ideas.

Father, give me wisdom to know how to show these people Your character. Help me to lift You up, that all will see You clearly. May I not be a further stumbling block to these searching souls. May they keep searching until they find You, the God who has been pursuing them with reckless abandon since before they were born. May I reflect Your character today. Amen.

(Written Thursday evening, March 6^th, 2014)