Life in Rwanda has been beautiful and strange. It was hard for me to collect my thoughts and share with you what we have been doing. The only way that seemed to be appropriate is through a selection of “short stories” that all together encompass my somewhat scattered thoughts and variety of experiences.
I Saw Jesus In My Toast
I saw Jesus in my toast. No, there was no black and golden outline of the face of my Christ, but I saw Jesus as I stared at this beautifully golden, buttered, warm piece of toast. I felt blessed. I could have cried. Cried because of toast. In a world of food that is different, it was a blessing to us when we saw that beautiful stack of toast sitting on the breakfast table.
It was a blessing, because it was different. We had been eating eggs, chips (aka French fries) and fruit for breakfast for weeks. It was all delicious! The eggs were wonderful. French fries for breakfast were delicious. And the fruit ranged from pineapple, to sweet bananas, to mangos. But to have a little slice of home sitting there waiting for us, well it was really a little slice of heaven.
It is good to switch things up sometimes. Even if it is just going from eating only eggs, to having a slice a toast to break up the monotony. That is what has been encouraging me this month. We have been leading devotions for a women’s sewing class and delivering sermons at two different churches. We feel unqualified. We have no way of measuring “results”. It is hard to see if we are making any difference.
But I came on the World Race to see how big our God is. When we live in one culture we get fed the same kind of gospel, the same kind of God, over and over again. Our God is multi-faceted. He has so many facets that we cannot comprehend them all. So the ones that we can grasp are the ones that we preach.
But as I have walked on Ugandan and Rwandan soil now, I have seen new pieces to who God is. I have been blessed to see how others view our God. Our God is a god of joy and dancing. Of color and beauty. He is a God who has to help us overcome many struggles, but he is also a God of big miracles. I have heard teachings about God that I have never heard in the states before.
So as the people we meet teach me more about God, as they deliver something different for me to consume, I take courage in knowing that we are doing the same for them. We can tell them what we know about our God and what we have learned, and it may be a new thought for them. It may be a piece of God that they have never seen before. This is what it truly means to be a part of the kingdom. Everyone has a piece of the puzzle. Everyone sees one or two facets of our multi-faceted God, but when we come together and share, we get a better picture of who our God truly is.
(Also, when you get sick in Rwanda, toast is seriously like manna from heaven. That is all)
Sometimes It Is Just A Seizure.
I was dripping sweat. Once while dancing I tried to whip my head in the same fashion of the other dancers and I was pretty sure I flung some sweat onto Amanda who was dancing next to me.
We were at the church in Ramera on a Wednesday night. The youth were having a praise and worship night (and luckily I was wearing a good sports bra). Our team and another team started the night in the back of the church dancing with a group of kids that Amanda had pied-piper-ed off of the street. Go figure, if you share your popcorn with two kids more will show up.
As the night went on many of us inched closer to the front and a few of us joined the dancers in the front of the church. Eager to learn how to move our feet in that amazing fashion that seems to come so naturally to them.
So we danced the night away. James was prepared to share a sermon and as Pastor Moses calmed down the singers and the dancers we all took our seats and prepared for a talk. Moses started by having us close our eyes and told us some things to think about and picture. I cheated, and after a few moments of darkness I opened my eyes to look around.
As Moses was speaking I heard a gasp, a groan, a moan, a muted scream from one young man who had come in later in the evening. He sat by the door. His shirt a bit dirty. I watched as he moaned, went rigid, and fell over, taking his chair with him.
My mind raced. Was this some sort of manifestation of the Holy Spirit? Was this a demon possession? But as some gathered around, prayed for the man, and talked to him as he regained consciousness, it was apparent that it was probably just a seizure.
When he fell his hands had clasped onto his chair, and his face met the pavement first. He busted open his forehead and his upper lip. He was bleeding and slightly delirious.
As some of the Rwandan youths talked to him and helped to clean him up it was apparent that now one here knew him, but he needed medical attention. Our best assumption, based on what he looked like when he came in, and his deliriousness even after regaining consciousness, is that he had either been beaten up or had sustained some head damage before.
Two of the gentlemen there started to walk this barefooted man up the dirty and rocky road towards the main road. They would get him to a clinic for some help. The two teams who were there quick scrambled and came up with some money. They gave us an estimate of what the hospital bill would be, and we made sure to give them that plus some extra.
That ended the night. There was no sermon and no more songs. Everyone dispersed and Pastor Moses said that maybe next Wednesday we would gather again and James could speak then.
It may not be the miracle-happy-ending story that I wish I could write. It may not be the spiritual warfare episode that I am pretty sure I will encounter sometime during the World Race. But it may just have been a huge blessing to the young man who came into a church where he knew no one. He saw joy, he heard songs of God’s love, and he watched two cultures dancing together.
I am pretty that none of us will ever see that man again. We did not even get to know his name. But I hope that the small act of kindness that the Gospel Center Mission church had in this man’s life will lead him closer to Jesus. I pray that he saw God that evening and he felt loved.
There and Back Again. A Megan’s Tale.
Once upon a time in a faraway land there lived a Megan. Now a Megan is a creature that is full of adventure, peace, and joy. Megan once lived in a comfortable Megan-sized home. She lived with all of her things and enjoyed all of her comforts.
But since Megan’s are full of adventure, this one adventured out. And not just any ordinary adventure, but a kingdom sized adventure. And even before she finished her first adventure, she signed up for another one. She agreed to lead a group of new adventurers. The best thing about her new adventure, even though she may not have seen it as the best thing right away, was that she would return to many of the places she had adventured to the first time.
In Uganda Megan spent an afternoon with the family who had hosted her only months before. She marveled at the changes in the house and the continued joy of the family. She felt blessed to be back and renew her connections.
In Rwanda Megan’s feet took her back to the family who hosted her there as well. She was able to visit them for a week. She held baby Josiah and got to marvel at his giggle. During her first journey he was still being knit together in his mother’s womb. She also got to hug little Lori, who she was not sure she would ever see again. During her first time here Megan’s feet had to carry her away even as their prayers still surrounded Lori. Malaria had overtaken Lori, a mistake at the hospital had sent her into a coma. Three days her family prayed and received little hope. Megan and her team stood together with the family and prayed for God’s power. Even now, if Lori were to live, she would probably suffer brain damage.
But as Megan’s feet brought her back through the gate of the house, Lori’s feet were able to run up and hug her. Perfect little Lori, who shows no ill effects from her time close to leaving this earth. What a blessing. What a joy for Megan to go there and back again. It is a dangerous thing, stepping out of one’s front door. It may even lead you back to a front door where you have been before.
Rwandan Mothers Have Super Powers.
I am convinced that mothers in Rwanda are superheroes. For starters, they wear capes.
You will see these powerful and beautiful ladies walking down the streets. Sometimes there is a plastic, yellow jerry-can, sitting sideways on their head. Other times it is a woven basket laden with fruit. I have even seen one balance a hoe by placing the spade close to the back of her head and having the handle stick out in front of her.
And they do all of this and more with a baby on their back. From infants to toddlers you will see a simple cloth, about the size of a bath towel, wrapped around and tied in front with two knots. These simple slings, these pretty papooses carry the mother’s most precious cargo. Their babies.
Around their necks there is usually tied a light, white cloth. Their super hero cape. Sometimes it is slung up over their shoulder, revealing their beautiful baby, and other times it shades the baby from the close-to-the-equator-sun. Simple. Effective. Beautiful.
I have seen how hard these women work. I have seen how fiercely these women loved. I have seen how joyfully these women dance in church (with and without a baby strapped to their backs). The first Sunday we were here I was blessed with the opportunity to deliver a sermon during a service that was especially geared towards woman. I spoke on the Proverbs 31 woman. I opened with reading the verse, and then telling these ladies that I genuinely believe that this woman was a Rwandan, who else could work so hard and love so much!
I know that superheroes exist. I have seen them. In Rwanda they are everywhere.
Jesus Cannot Wash Me Clean If I Do Not Get Dirty First.
On my 27th birthday I carried bricks. I hauled bricks. I passed bricks. I piled bricks. Reddish brown, African clay bricks that were larger than loaves of bread. They needed to be stacked in a pile so we could throw a tarp over them and keep the rain from ruining them.
My hands were stained. My forearms were stained. My clothes were stained. Everything turned more reddish brown as we moved and stacked, moved and stacked. Arms ached, backs strained, and faces smiled.
Yesterday we dug two holes. Or we re-dug two holes. Living on a hill brings a glorious view of the valley and hills beyond, but the lack of a gutter and sewer system brings rivers, puddles, and floods during the rainy season as the water cascades down the steep slope next to the road. There were two large holding ponds beside the road near our house. One had been completely filled up with the silt, topsoil, and animal manure that had slid down the hill. We took to our shovels and hoes and started to dig it back out. It smelled as wonderful as you could imagine.
Our shoes became heavier with each sloppy shovel. As we walked around in the muck and slung it up over the side. As we stomped it down to try and pack the walls so they would not just wash away during the next storm. Sweat stung our eyes, odors stung our nostrils, and the reddish brown African mud clung to our shoes and our ankles.
Today we hauled sand and dirt onto the driveway. We graded it and leveled it the best we could. Our hopes was to make sure the rain washed away from the house and down towards the grass. Our hands grew darker as our work progressed. Our feet grew darker as our steps packed down the earth. We were grimy, yet we were happy as the kids danced around to help pack down the soil.
Our work stopped as we watched a wall of water descend down the neighboring hill. The rain drops were soon felt as we stood on the porch. We dashed back to our rooms, only to come out with soap and shampoo in hand. A stream of water rushing down from the roof became our meeting place. God’s glorious rain became our shower.
We were washed clean. The dirt and tiredness both washed from our bodies. As again we smiled and laughed. We had joy in the dirt and the muck, and we had even greater joy in being washed clean. God is hardening our hands with blisters and callouses, but he is not hardening our hearts. Those he is washing clean and restoring them. He is restoring them with his love and his passions. He is restoring our childlike faith as we hold the children around us. He is giving us his passion as we work beside our Rwandan brothers and sisters. He is breaking our hearts from what breaks his.
We will move heaven and earth by the time this trip is over. And we will continue to do it for the rest of our days. Not by our strength, but by God’s.
A big thank you to everyone who has been praying for us and supporting us! We made our October 31st deadline, but we are still looking to be fully funded by December 31st. It is then that we will know for sure that we will be able to stay out on the field all eleven months. Thank you for helping us see what God is doing in these countries and helping him in it.
